Heart's Desires
by double scotch.single malt
Summary: Rachel and Tom continue to work on their relationship in this dramatic and romantic story within a story. Set post Season 2 Finale (2x13). This is a multi-chapter story for Tomchel fans.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 1**

 _Pain seared her body, her fight or flight instinct in full throttle as she fell back against the wall – her attacker's wild eyes all she could remember – wild and angry, driven by rage and also this, his tone frenetic, low … sinister, foreboding, life-ending: "Sic semper tyrannis." And then the restless barrel of_ ** _this_** _tyrant's gun and his shaky hand in the milliseconds before the pain came … …_

… _before every plan she made was unhinged and her world went black and was suddenly beautiful and deep and dark and fluid … infused with a sublime, amaranthine, never-ending sensation of … love._

 _For thereafter there was only this: "Find me," his tone, steady, even, methodical, a pitch, somehow belonging solely to her. "Find me," he said, more with his eyes than with his softer, kinder voice … those gorgeous, endless eyes …_

 _Where she would come to reside … safe and secure, held captive within the depths of those gateways that always said so much more than words ever could. For everything was circular and always came back to him and that was something she held onto with tenacity during her most tenuous moments – his tone, his words – and the wholesome honesty in his eyes …_

… _this small flicker of recognition within them that only she could see, the flicker that said, "Wait for me … wait for me to be ready, I won't be long now."_

 _And so she did … wait._

 _She held on to the fabric of his subtle being (his soul-filled eyes that told her everything she needed to know) that bound them together with divine gossamer stitching, which became the foundation of their life together._

" _Find me," he said … and he meant it. "Find me," he entreated quietly … and eventually, she did._

 _###_

Rachel woke up with a start. Her hand flew instinctively to her right shoulder where a dull ache resonated, pinching her … a vestige of her dream, the humid air sticking to her skin, residual heat pricking at her neck now. Her heart pumped and her wary eyes swept the room – _she was safe_ – safe and sound inside their cottage along the coast of Flora Island. _Familiar. Protected. Private. Theirs._ Exhaling, she closed her eyes for a beat and listened to the dulcet sound of the ocean rolling against the shore, her soundtrack for the moment as she collected herself – _she was safe, remembering now that Tom went out for a run to avoid the prime heat of a Philippines day_ – and that Ashley and Sam set off to go sailing with Danny and Kara and –

" _Ba, ba … ma-ma … dad-dee … ba, ba …,"_ came her baby's melodic babble.

And just like that, her world stopped spinning and her qualms evaporated … and everything was quiet and serene and peaceful, her cherub's tenors floating and swirling through the air now, along with his high-pitched crescendo that kept in perfect time with the waves along the shore and the palm fronds rustling overhead.

Smiling now, Rachel swiftly got up and shimmied out of her panties and shirt, slipped on a bathing suit and a sundress and exited the confines of their sanctuary only to stand in the doorway of another. Tossing her hair into a messy ponytail, she doted privately for a moment, watching her magnificent boy relax inside his enclave – _his sentimental prattle sweet and sincere_ – his tiny feet in the air as he stared up at the ceiling and sang and sang without care … until he turned his head and spotted her there, his bright blue eyes grabbing ahold of hers with tenacity, crinkles of pure happiness spotted within.

"Mama!" he squealed with delight matched by no other on earth.

"Hi, my boy," she whispered, tears of happiness pricking at her eyes as she gathered his warm body in her arms, cradling him, her nose pressed into his plentiful blond locks, inhaling his essence, soap and sea – _just like his father's_ – plus the added bonus of _'baby sleep'_ … she sighed wistfully. Cradling her special package, she held him in her arms, more than savoring this private moment.

Wrangling himself free, he pulled back and stared at her – _his rosy cheeks and bright eyes just inches from hers_ – his chubby hands flanking her face. "Mama, where's Shlee … Sam-mee?" he asked with intensity, cocking his head with wonderment.

"Ashley and Sam?" she smiled broadly. "They're with Kara and –"

"Sail for burtdays!" he cackled happily into their shared space, his sweet breath fanning her face. "And Dan-nee!" he whispered with an intense fervor he saved just for Danny.

"Yes, that's right!" she answered, a smile reaching her own eyes, his happiness beyond infectious, his giggle floating through the air now. "Such a big boy you are, almost three!" she exclaimed softly, entirely lost within his aura.

 _###_

The early morning sun was hot, but pleasant as Rachel perched herself on a woven mat near the shoreline, pushing her feet into the pristine damp sand. She hunkered under her large sun hat and smiled contentedly, observing her boy as he "worked", having learned how to make drip-sand castles this trip. _Dunk. Squeeze. Drip._ Bending down, he armed himself with fistfuls of sand, replenishing his supply of the castle-making substance in the bucket, just like Sam taught him to do. Then he resumed: _Dunk. Squeeze. Drip._

Beyond the scene in front of her, Rachel scanned the horizon now – _it was a gorgeous day for sailing, she decided then_ – the water was a brilliant blue and the tide low with a light to moderate nautical breeze skimming the beach, the palm trees danced high above them. _Dunk. Squeeze. Drip._

Bending her left elbow down, residual pain radiating slowly from her opposite shoulder as she did – _she favored the old wound –_ wincing as she lowered herself, almost eye level with the ocean now. And it was here that she once again looked beyond her boy and toward the horizon – _her heart pinching_ – a familiar jarring of sorts claiming her now, an old memory resurfacing as they often did, especially with tomorrow's anniversary on the forefront of her mind.

Focusing her attention again, she followed the line of the coast as it blended into the jetty of the mountain to the far right – _and while not an island_ – it looked exactly like Seranna Bank from her vantage point. And then suddenly without recourse – _all Rachel could think about was the Nathan James, stalled in the middle of the ocean, while they all sat idle –_ waiting on their collective prayers for the miracle of a nautical wind … along with her own vigilant prayer for the safety of her most cherished possession at the time – _the primordial strain_ – as it languished and then free floated at the bottom of the ocean.

 _Her reflective mind deluge with memories now, she thought of Lieutenant Chung and his bold move to sink the strain (and of his untimely death to the Ramsey's later) – her heedful prayers of that day, her mantras funneling to the surface again – 'forty degrees, come on, come on, forty, forty, forty' – and then the insurmountable liberation … the fleeting moment of happiness, that all would not be lost … and that they still had a chance!_

 _Of course, stock images of Tom came too (realizing now how invested she was in him, even then). Her mind reeling with a fragment of Russ' words to her beloved Captain as they had remained in her mind, deep in her recesses – 'our journey does not end here' – his baritone, firm and strong and convincing … and then, of course … the arrival of that cherished wind and the switching of the gears (literally) and of their luck … which ultimately lead them to Seranna Bank … to land … and water … and survival for another day._

Feeling as though it were only yesterday, Rachel raised herself up again, back and away from the vantage point of the reminder – _her eyes misty with tears now_ – her precious boy blurred, meshing with the coastline. She looked at the mountain jetty longingly for a moment … before letting those serious memories float up and away and into the ocean breeze.

"Mama … see?" her boy prompted with glee, pulling her back to the present.

She smiled, training her eyes on his … perpetually blue and endless. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "Mama will help you, okay?" she added softly.

"Yay!" he squealed, his unruly locks whipping up in the wind, his cheeks rosy with health, happiness and an island suntan.

Smiling still, she reached forward, her old wound no more than a dull ache now – _mitigated by her boy's energy_ – and by the soothing sound of the waves as they rolled against the shore, calming her from the inside out. Working in tandem now, she felt the sun beat down along her shoulders and focused on the task at hand – _Dunk. Squeeze. Drip._ – she and her boy laughed, adding more and more and even more of the petrified drips of sand to a large mound of a castle – _Dunk. Squeeze. Drip. –_ they went again and again and again until she was lost within the moment where everything was suddenly ideal … and perfect … and meant to be.

Inhaling deeply, she allowed the calming essence of the island to consume her entirely – _the innate sunshine, the ocean, the salty sea air_ – all mixed together with suntan lotion and aloe vera gel, her heart trembling with joy as her thoughts circled back to Tom and how absolutely mad she was for him.

And maybe it was tomorrow's date or maybe she was just feeling sentimental, but suddenly all she could think about was the beginning of their second chance together – _which made her smile_ – even now, after all these years.

 _###_

 _Exiting the main lecture hall at the college, Rachel shifted her messenger bag onto her left shoulder and shook hands with the new Dean of Admissions, accepting his invitation to guest lecture again on the topic of modern virology when time permitted … for after the pandemic – it was no secret that a great many more students were interested in the field – having lived through the crisis that forever changed their world, this new generation was keen to arm themselves with knowledge._

 _She smiled graciously, though she'd be lying if these public, 'proof-is-in-the-pudding-moral-boosting-lectures' of Michener's didn't wear her down and tire her out. Her feet felt clumsy in her boots and her lower back needed some serious stretching after standing tall at the podium for so long. Not to mention, she suddenly regretted wearing her more form-fitting brown cashmere sweater … her skin was itchy, pricking with heat._

 _Her right shoulder began to ache in earnest too, the single Motrin she allowed herself to take hours earlier, wearing off now, scar tissue nettling at her as she followed the dean down the steps and into the courtyard – the sun almost setting now in the late December sky – her eyes moving along the naturally lit landscape until she found Tom's steady eyes where he stood off and to the side with Mike, both handsome in Service Dress Blue uniforms. She slipped her coat on and replaced her bag on her shoulder._

 _She smiled weakly and Tom nodded in assent – his eyes softening around the edges now – something she noticed every so often, especially when he thought no one was looking. He smiled a small smile with his eyes and continued watching her with interest as she was seamlessly deposited into a casual question and answer session with a small throng of students – two ensigns flanking her at close range for protection – an order set forth by the Chief of Naval Operations, a role Tom was still getting used to and one that fit him well. Though, she knew as well as he did that when the Nathan James would push off again and leave the port of St. Louis under Captain Slattery's capable charge, that Tom would look after both of them with longing._

 _Things between she and Tom had eased into a comfortable plateau during the last ten months, their stalemate over Neils' death having been somewhat dispelled with Michener's pardon the day they landed in St. Louis (and she was subsequently shot) – the tension between them almost immediately resolved thereafter – as Tom spent many evenings at the hospital with her during the early time of her recovery, his father and children having not yet arrived from Norfolk._

 _And it was from this new beginning that they seemed to evolve, to graduate to 'Rachel and Tom' or 'Tom and Rachel' … two friends carefully navigating around their more intense feelings for one another as they moved on and rebuilt their lives. And during that time, Tom truly had become her steadfast, loyal friend and confidant and Rachel believed that their bond of trust was not only mended, but perhaps healthier now than it had ever been._

 _When the crowd became more manageable and the last questions were dealt with, the senior officers left their post and approached her and she watched with interest as Mike dismissed the ensigns and nodded in her direction. Smiling, she tilted her head quizzically and only then did Mike betray his old friend, making a sidelong glance at Tom as he too, departed. She smiled in return and shook the hand of the last student and turned to find Tom, still hanging back, letting her do her thing. She shrugged and held his gaze as he moved toward her, that same small smile etched along his handsome face._

" _Nice crowd," he said to her then, his white cap nestled in the crook of his forearm._

" _Yes …," she agreed, shifting her bag again, arching her back slightly as she did._

" _Can I take that for you?" he intuited, his eyes still pinned to hers._

 _She smiled. "I'm all right," she answered softly, looking around the courtyard. "You dismissed my detail …," she stated evenly, raising her brow as she regarded him._

" _Yes, I did …," he answered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "If you're not too wiped out … I was wondering … if we could talk …," he uncharacteristically hesitated._

 _Rachel sighed and smiled. "Want to sit?" she inquired, pointing to a bench along one of the pathways._

" _I'd like that," he answered, extending his arm out so that she could walk and sit first._

 _The pair sat down and Rachel slipped her bag off of her shoulder, her lower back on fire as she pushed herself back and into the frame of the bench, her nerve-endings strained, as she set her bag down next to her and glanced at Tom sitting more formally in his uniform, his cap on his knee now wherein she noticed with shock that his left hand was naked … devoid of his wedding band._

 _Looking up, she found his eyes, hoping she had concealed her surprise before she dared herself to speak. "So … you wanted to talk …," she said, her voice catching. She cleared her throat._

 _Tom turned into her, draping his free hand along the back of the bench. "I do ...," he sighed, his eyes sweeping the courtyard now. "Before I say what I planned to say though … may I admire you, Dr. Scott?" he asked of her, his blue eyes sparkling against the whiskey-colored sky as he turned to find her again._

 _Rachel laughed. "If you must, Captain," she answered more formally._

 _Tom nodded, holding her gaze. "I must …," he declared easily._

" _Then I won't stop you …," she whispered, somehow already lost within the depths of his eyes._

 _He smiled. "You know just now, being here with you again reminded me of that day when we made landfall here …," he sighed, his eyes fixed on hers now. "We stood here, right here with all of those survivors – and I just remembered how in awe of you I really was …," he smiled genuinely, his eyes reflective. She exhaled on his sentiment and fought the urge to look away. "And … I'm telling you now because, we both know I was distant and angry then – but really – all I could think was: 'she's amazing … she did it' …," he smiled, tilting his head._

 _Rachel shook her head. "We all did it …," she sighed, instinctively stepping down from the pedestal he set her upon._

 _Tom sighed. "No … I'm just talking about_ ** _you_** _here … only you and that great, scientific mind of yours – would be ingenious enough to dream up a virus-cure that also required_ ** _compassion_** _and_ ** _caring_** _as prime ingredients – especially when derived from such a foul source …," he sighed heavily, shaking his head now. "You're something else, Rachel … I should have told you that a long time ago …," he stated evenly. "You're still the genuine missionary to the surviving populace of the world …," he breathed, his glassy eyes still pinned to hers as he shifted, moving closer to her._

 _She shook her head in an attempt to negate him but tiny tears popped free, betraying her as they slipped down her face. "Oh … I don't know about that … weren't we all missionaries in our own ways?" she smiled weakly, squirming slightly to ward off his scrutiny, her throat constricted, her emotional reaction funneling to the surface as she thought about that glorious pinnacle of a day that seemed like a lifetime ago already. "It truly was the most gratifying moment of my life though …," she suspired then, her heart trembling akin to a leaf on a vine as she stared back at him, another set of tears gathering now._

 _Tom looked away and out and over the courtyard. "Well then – I'm glad I was a part of the journey that brought you to that moment – even after everything … even if it seemed like a cruel twist of fate, at the time …," he whispered, swallowing hard, his trembling voice trailing off now._

" _Me too," she exhaled on the truth, because it was … one of the only truths she felt sure of now._

 _The pair sat in silence for a long moment, privately reflecting, and while Rachel enjoyed Tom's company – she felt that he was on a precipice somewhere far away tonight – his mind likely reeling over the past and present, much like hers. For whether Tom intuited this or not, they navigated quite similarly in the way they hesitated around their feelings about things … regrets … upsets … losses … and of course what to do about their steadfast connection … this idea of 'them' that was written somewhere in the stars._

" _Last week …," Tom muttered then. Rachel turned to him. "It was a year since Baltimore … a year …," he exhaled sharply turning to her, his eyes searching hers for answers._

" _I know …," she sighed, inching closer, she set her hand on top of his. Tom looked away. "I wasn't sure … I thought to call you when I was away … but –"_

" _A year, Rachel," he interrupted, turning back to her. "And … look at us … we're still here," he incited softly with a small smile. "A year later and now I know … that it wasn't – that_ ** _this, us_** _sitting here tonight – isn't because of some cruel twist of fate … because maybe … it was meant to be …," he whispered thickly, his voice gruff._

" _Tom …," she whispered his name, but she was at a loss for words – for his sentiments were so endearing now that Rachel attempted to look away – to cower and hide from the intensity of the moment while her tears continued to pop free._

 _But Tom quickly intervened, brushing his thumb along her damp cheeks. "Hmm … I didn't mean to make you cry," he smiled, screwing his mouth up, eliciting a smirk from her._

" _I'll be all right now …," she said softly, her mind reeling over his resolute belief – that they were somehow meant to be – to end up here … together. "We'll be all right …," she exhaled into the fresh night sky._

 _They sighed together then, each unleashing a burden or two or fifty into the night sky. Rachel sat back, her tired eyes moving over the landscape in front of them once again, basking in the peaceful energy she felt now wherein she suddenly thought of her father and mother all at once and wondered what they would have made of her that day – vaccinating people with compassion alone – the girl she once was, just wondering about them now … as she did from time to time._

 _Reflexively, she glanced at Tom then and followed his gaze up and out over the gorgeous skyline, to the naked trees in the courtyard and the last of the fall leaves on the ground, his stance more relaxed now._

" _Tom …," she queried softly then, gently pulling him from his reverie. "What was it you really wanted to speak with me about?" she dared herself to ask him._

 _He turned to her and inched closer, draping his arm along her shoulders. "You and me …," he answered without missing a beat, his tone low and intimate ('Find me', he'd said once a long time ago in that very same tone)._

" _What about us?" she prompted, peering up to him._

" _Us … just … us," he whispered, a broad smile forming on his face. "Rachel … would you like to go on a date with me?" he asked of her then, his words, slow and steady and deliberate._

 _Rachel felt a reflexive wave of heat pulse across her face. Turning into him now, she allowed him draw her near, holding her captive with his stunning, honest eyes, more gorgeous and endless than ever, where she could only answer, "I'd love to."_

 _###_

" _Dad-dee!"_ came the baby's high-pitched exaltation.

And with that, Rachel was jarred out of her daydream wherein she turned to find her lover coming down the beach, his swim trunks sitting low on his hips – _he smiled radiantly, close enough already for her to fix her eyes upon his_ – wherein she found herself somewhat startled now by his confident stride and relaxed stance … his bright and clean and clear eyes, full of unadulterated happiness … something that, she decided years ago, looked good on him and made him seem younger, a vision of the boy he once was.

Relief consumed her, though she had no idea why, he'd been happy and replete for years – _but as her old memories surfaced, as they often did for her –_ she would admit that sometimes she would search for that more innate happiness that embodied him now, somehow half expecting his more guarded, terse _'Captain persona'_ to overpower the man he had evolved to be … with her. Breathless now, she swallowed hard, her heart beating in tandem with his every step as she stood to greet him.

"Hi …," she said softly, her voice catching, suddenly overcome with emotion as he enveloped her in his arms without a word, his nose pressed into her neck, his mouth latched to her shoulder where he pulsed his lips – _lingering there, breathing her in_ – the familiar heat of his body once again solidifying their connectivity.

"Hi …," he whispered into her flesh as she pinned her hands to his hips, grounding herself, his supple lips peppering her neck and cheeks with tiny kisses before tilting her chin up and descending his mouth upon hers.

 _Where she became pliant in his open embrace, truly swept away by everything he did to her, even now, even after everything, his kisses unabashed and sticky … he tasted of coconut and pineapple and sunscreen and coffee and she couldn't get enough – her heart trumpeting, a rolling mantra of love and adoration coursing through her veins as she kissed and kissed and kissed him back, matching his fervor for her, tenfold. Her soul ignited with desire for him as he pulled her closer, heat pooling at her core … her nerve-endings snapping now while simultaneously, falling into place … she was whole … healed … complete … sated … and madly in love._

Pulling back, Tom's smile widened, marveling at her for a long beat, his arm slung low around her hip now, his nimble fingers holding her in place along the tie of her bikini bottom as he turned his attention to their love-baby. "Hi buddy," he smiled, reaching down, he scooped the bundle up with one arm.

"Dad-dee!" the baby squealed with delight as Tom peppered his chubby neck with kisses.

 _###_

 _From beneath her sunhat, Rachel watched her boys in the glittering water from the shoreline – Tom's muscular shoulders and the baby's dwarfed body visible from her vantage point – the mountain-island vista that incited her earlier memory off and to her right still as she stood ankle deep in the warm ocean, lulled by it's circular motion as the tiny waves pummeled her feet. Tom smiled as he made his way toward her, the sea parting around him as he moved. A radiant smile settled on her face, drawn to his hold upon her akin to a magnet as he came to stand before her, setting the baby down where he promptly toddled away and began to chase the waves._

 _Tom sat down in the sand and pulled on Rachel's hand wherein she joined him. The couple sat inside an easy silence for several beats, each lost in their own thoughts, eyes trained on their son as he dared his consummate playmate – the ocean – to come and get him._

Tom draped his arm around Rachel's shoulders and drew her near. "He's something else …," he whispered, his voice catching, betraying him as it did from time to time.

"He is …," she agreed, relaxing into the arc of his arm. Hesitating, her eyes swept the mountain-island vista again. And then she prompted, "Can I show you something I never noticed in all the time we've been coming here?"

"Sure …," he answered, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple.

Rachel smiled, leaning further into his embrace, he smelled of the salt of the earth. She tilted her head and pointed now, down and to the right. "See that there … the way the mountain jetty moves out and into the water … the way it looks like an island in the middle of the ocean …," she breathed, lightheaded again as intense memories consumed her ( _No water._ _Monkeys. Chung. The strain._ ). She set her hand along Tom's forearm and he squinted against the sun, following her direction. "Doesn't it look like Seranna Bank?" she dared herself to ask of him.

She felt Tom exhale and retreat into her slightly. "It does …," he agreed softly, his eyes transfixed, surely lost within his own stock of memories now.

Rachel let him be with his thoughts for several long minutes, moving her hand up to the nape of his neck where she toyed with his soft, short hair. She felt him take another cleansing breath and watched his eyes close.

"Do you know what tomorrow is …," she whispered then.

"Yes … I do …," he smiled tightly, peering down at her now, his eyes soft and endearing. She melted. "The day we first met on the James …," he whispered, reaching up, he pushed some of her flyaway tendrils away from her face.

 _She smiled and looked down and away for a beat, unable to stop herself from feeling saddened by their catastrophic losses now. Blinking her tears away she trained her eyes on their boy, losing herself in his innate tranquil disposition, the sun shining high in the sky above them now._

 _Exhaling sharply, she let some of those more tumultuous memories drift out to sea: the exposure of her secret (damning their beginning) … Baltimore, losing Darien and Quincy (and Michael along the way) and Frankie and Cossetti … facing Ruskov and Ramsey and the Immunes … losing Chung and Ravit … and Dr. Hunter. The pressure mounted._

 _Her spiral continued: Niels and everything he stood for (everything she ever hated) … and then her unyielding stalemate with Tom and his distant, yet terse eyes thereafter. Her shoulder ached now, a trigger response to the stress._

" _Rachel, please … don't … …,"_ came Tom's voice.

She turned into him again, fat tears stung her eyes as she watched unearthed emotion riddle his handsome face. She smiled and sniffled, closing her eyes, she set her salty tears free. Reaching for her, Tom slipped her hat off and drew her near, his hands cradling her skull as he pressed salty kisses along her halo and then to her lips, effortlessly soothing her now.

"Why do I do that? Why can't I let it go?" she wondered, pulling back slightly, she searched the depths of his all-seeing gateways for answers.

"Maybe because you're still not ready …," he reasoned softly, leaning forward, he kissed her soundly again, tiny open mouthed kisses. "We'll get there …," he smiled against her lips before setting his forehead against hers for a beat where he engaged with her there, eye-to-eye. "Trust me," he whispered.

"Always," she answered, peering into his soulful eyes … as blue and tranquil as the sea in front of them.

 _Sighing, she moved further into his damp heat, her head spinning from her wild variant thoughts – focusing on the baby now – she saw he was growing tired, having positioned himself in the sand right in front of them now … busy again with his castle-making. Tom pressed his lips to her halo where he pulsed, once, twice._

Rachel leaned onto her hip and rolled into him, peering up. "Sometimes … it seems like it was only yesterday … the mission … the virus … … our fight …," she whispered into their confessional.

Tom turned into her. "It's an indelible part of who we are – _and we can't forgive it_ – or how we ended up together ... you know that," he encouraged rationally. "And yes … it's a strange beginning, but it is **_our_** story of pure chance or … greater destiny … well … you know how I feel," he shrugged with a small reflective smile, his eyes moving to their boy.

Rachel followed his gaze. "I do … that not every moment we have together has to be marred by our beginning …," she acknowledged his stance on the subject ( _having had a version of this conversation many times over the years_ ).

"Exactly – _if everything we've gone through has taught us anything, it's that life is an unpredictable evolution_ – you know that, heck you taught me that!" he exclaimed with a grin. "I mean … what would have happened if we didn't evolve … or … make this happen?" he asserted softly, pointing to the baby, his eyes softening now as he turned to face her again. "What if … in the end –"

"I didn't make it after the shooting … didn't wake up … and find you?" she whispered quickly, trying her best to mollify his anxiety.

Tom nodded, drawing her near, he stared at her through his glassy eyes, a storm at sea now. "You know … I can't even imagine …," he exhaled, emotion covering him like a blanket wherein Rachel, lurched forward and into his space in an effort to calm him.

"And you don't have to …," she reminded him, pressing her lips to his where she kissed him softly, his mouth moving succinctly against hers – _their connection so innate and gorgeous that it seamlessly consumed them_ – sealing their fate with another kiss. "I love you … I love you …," she husked against his open mouth.

"Hmm," he hummed, his baritone vibrating against her nerves now. "And I love you … so much …," he replied, pulling back slightly, he brushed his nose against hers. "We're all right …," he sighed heavily, staring at her, his eyes so faceted now they were almost too intense for her to look upon.

" _Dad-dee … sad?"_ came the baby's sing-song voice as he stepped into their embrace, flanking his sandy hands on his father's face where he idolized him for a beat.

Tom smiled broadly. "No … Daddy's happy," he said and they all laughed.

"Cry … hap-pee?" the baby asked quizzically, passing a curious glance between his parents.

"Sometimes …," Tom laughed heartily. "So much going on in that brain of yours … so much like your mama where it counts … so smart," he doted affectionately, kissing the baby's crown.

"Oh … sil-lee … dad-dee," the toddler answered with a large yawn. "You oh-kay … now," he babbled and with that sentiment, he positioned himself onto his father's lap.

"Yes, I am, little man," Tom whispered, peering up at Rachel as he pressed his lips to the top of the baby's head before he quickly leaned in and kissed her. "And I promise you … our story, aside from what we've lost collectively _– is not tragic_ – nor does it have to be … we honor those we lost … Darien's legacy is living … here, with us …," he insisted with a small reflective smile.

Rachel smiled too, her thoughts landing on Ashley and Sam and her bond with them, having been able to relate to so much of their pain given her own childhood. "Intellectually … spiritually, I know you're correct … I just, sometimes second-guess myself …," she confessed, her heart skipping a beat at the admission.

"Me too …," he also confessed. "But really, all we can do it own it … … and still love each other now … here, today… just like we have for years," he articulated, his voice low and deep. "You taught me that too … just by waiting for me to be ready – _and I'll always love you for it_ – for this second chance …," he whispered, his intensity, raw and uncensored; he leaned into her heat.

 _Rachel reacted now, with fervent kisses, kissing it all better for him while he did the same for her – once again solidifying their relationship, tomorrow's looming date – not as foreboding now that she'd hashed her feelings out – for sometimes she just needed to do that, needed to ground herself and remember from whence they came to truly accept their unequivocal bond, her heart's desire, despite the unusual circumstances of their union._

Tom smiled against her lips. "Better?" he asked of her. Rachel nodded, she felt her cheeks heat. "He's asleep …," he whispered, shifting the baby into a cradle hold of his arms. "You know what that means," he smirked like a teenager.

"I do …," Rachel sassed and stood, sinking her feet into the warm sand. "Alone time … on vacation," she smiled wistfully, watching as Tom stood. "Careful …," she added softly, reaching out for the baby.

"I got him …," Tom said with a smile.

 _###_

Having deposited the baby in his cot, Rachel stepped into the naturally lit bathroom and turned the shower on, slipping out of her bikini and into the gentle cascade of the water. Exhaling sharply – _she peered up and into the skylight briefly_ – before closing her eyes, visualizing the last of those resonating anxieties as they were shed from her aura and circled the drain at her feet.

The curtain shifted and a waft of cooler air filtered into the small tiled space, though she was immediately warmed by the radiant heat of Tom's body as he moved flush against her from behind, his fingertips dancing over her neck and shoulders and down to cup her breasts gently, testing their weight, his thumbs caressing her puckered flesh. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and into him, unruly heat pooling at her core … for one simple touch from him was sometimes all it took.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered thickly into her ear, his mere proximity releasing another ping of energy that coursed through her being … _hot … wild … his_.

Without another word, Tom reached for the shampoo and dispensed some onto his hands wherein he began to gently massage her scalp, natural antioxidant extracts floating up and into the humid particulates now as he rotated her inside his capable arms, smiling as she tilted her head back to rinse her hair, his hands pinned to her hips for a beat before he danced his fingertips along the apex of her thighs – _his playful, penetrating eyes trained on her_ – though she spotted with ease, a more serious flicker there too.

She smiled and he smiled in return, his gaze still fixed on hers while his fingertips brushed along her scar tissue near her shoulder – _still sensitive to the touch, even now_ – and she knew that sometimes those scars were invisible ( _his and hers_ ) … and sometimes, on days like today … they weren't. And so she let her lover be – _let him kiss it better_ – because really, only he could do that for her and she for him. She set her hand over his, resting it there for a long beat before she leaned up and kissed his sweet mouth.

"Scarred beauty," he whispered thickly, lost within his own memories now.

"I'm all right … I found my way back," she whispered against his lips.

"To me … yes … you did," he exhaled with a small smile.

"Your turn …," she smirked now, holding his gaze, wherein he planted his lips upon hers again, tenderly smoothing her wet hair back and away from her face … _kiss, kiss, kiss …_ her heart went nuts.

 _She pulled back slightly and batted her lashes and poured some shampoo onto her hands, wasting no time before she leaned up and kissed her lover soundly while she attentively washed his gorgeous body. One hand moving to massage his lengthening shaft, the other pressed against his toned ass, keeping him right where she needed him and wanted him most: his lean body and beautiful cock pressed low against her stomach, her aroused nipples cutting across his hard chest muscles and his large hands palming her backside where he closed the miniscule distance between them while they kissed and caressed one another without a care in the world._

 _Releasing her hold on his cock, Rachel stepped even closer to her lover, rolling his bobbing muscle between their bodies as she slicked her hands through his hair and along his broad shoulders and back, his lips still pressed against hers where he moaned her name and moved her backward, situating her between the tiled wall and his body before he raised her thigh and teased her slick folds with the tip of his ready cock – testing her natural inclination for him, gently coaxing her open – though truth be told, there had never been a question as to her sexual readiness for him. Never._

"Please …," was all she said – _it was all she ever had to say_ – for their lovemaking was intuitive … instinctual … fulfilling.

And so with the echo of her plea resonating between them, Tom bent his knees and entered her swiftly, palming her tush where he lifted her up and she crossed her feet behind his back, their brand of heat encapsulating them as they made steadfast love – _the powerful essence of their sex, cloaking them now as they connected in mind, body and spirit_ – enjoying their _'alone time'_ … lost somewhere together on an island in the middle of the ocean … under the sun shining high in the afternoon sky … and the whimsical palm trees dancing in the perfect nautical breeze.

 _###_

"I must be dreaming," she said a little while later, safe and sound and under the covers in their bedroom. Her eyes dipped shut.

" _You say that … a lot …,"_ came Tom's voice.

She opened her eyes to find him. "I do?" she wondered and looked to him, losing herself inside his gorgeous blue gateways … calm and clear and endless.

"You do …," he sighed, leaning up on his elbow, he pressed a chaste kiss to her halo and set his hand over her heart.

Rachel sighed and rolled into his heat, curling herself into the perfect fit of his body, he smelled of sex and shampoo. "Sometimes it feels like our first time together … remember that night?" she asked of him now, peering up and into his eyes.

"I do … a great, perfect … second chance of a beginning …," he smiled wistfully.

"But other times … I feel like I'm still waiting for **our** time … when I wanted … **this** … **us** … so badly …," she confessed hesitantly.

"I know … me too … but then you woke up … and you waited for me …," he replied, pulling her up where he kissed her mouth, slow and soft at first and then more urgently as they rolled, his solid body hovering over hers now.

"Hmmm … and I found you and waited for you …," she said from beneath him, her eyes pinned to his, she brushed her nose against his and he kissed her lips, coming to rest at her side.

"And then we found each other … see, anything's possible," he declared evenly, staring at her.

 _And that was their truth – that they found one another – that they were living their second chance … a life full of possibility. Rachel felt Tom's breathing become more steady and he shifted slightly, setting his head on the pillow next to hers and she smiled as she watched his face relax, doting on him for a brief moment before she closed her eyes and everything was … liquid black – like the moonless sky from the deck of the Nathan James at sea – endless and gorgeous … where everything was perfect and relatively unknown … kind of like looking into their boy's eyes … his curious reflection so endless, his purpose on earth, so pure, so great … that Tom was right, anything was possible._

###

The bed was cold. _The bed shouldn't be cold_ , she rationalized, still very much asleep, though she felt more like she had been drugged. Groggy, she rolled over again instinctively chasing Tom's innate heat and found his arm, curling into him, though that comfort was marred by a shocking pain that traveled down her back.

 _"Rachel …,"_ came Tom's baritone from someplace far away. _"Rachel … open your eyes … find me,"_ he whispered his pea, his sentiment and his voice, deep and familiar. _'Find me',_ there was his sentiment, two simple words that meant so much to her. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy, she couldn't. Panic claimed her. She tried to move in earnest, thrashing about. _"Hey Doc!"_ he called, his voice urgent, demanding now.

At the mention of a doctor, Rachel forced her dry eyes open, frenetic alarms blaring inside her head as she looked up to Tom, perched on the side of the bed – _a hospital bed, no, no, no_ – she shook her head and heard her voice. "No, no, no …," she babbled incoherently. "Where am I? Where is he? And you?" she she gasped, her lungs on fire, the sterile air, both stale and cold.

"Rachel… look at me," Tom whispered, setting warm hand along her halo, she held his intense gaze. "You're going to be fine … you were hurt … but you're going to be fine …," he said, his voice betraying him as it trembled and therein he appeared more vulnerable than she'd ever seen him.

Reaching for his hand, she squeezed. "Where is he? Are you okay?" she whispered, fat tears pricked her eyes; she blinked and set them free.

He shook his head and pressed his lips together, squeezing her hand in return, holding her desperate gaze. "You're going to be fine … I'm fine …," he soothed, leaning in. "Everything is going to be all right," he exhaled, his eyes darting to the door … his desperation mounting.

 _Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?_

 _She felt like screaming! She pulled her hand out of Tom's and began to cry in earnest, 'please, please, please', she prayed to no one in particular but her hope diminished quickly and she felt as if she was free-falling out of her own skin, disintegrating beyond repair. A pit churned in her stomach. What was happening? She blinked rapidly, her heart already pummeled, tattered and torn. She lunged forward._

"Rachel … please lay back," Tom implored softly, his steadfast eyes darting to the door again to which he boomed into the relative silence, "SOMEONE! GET IN HERE, NOW!"

"No, no … no … please …Tom …," she exhaled; he turned back to her. "Where is he?" she begged of him, trying to sit up again. "WHERE IS HE?" she shrilled, her maternal instincts on high alert now wherein all she could think about was their little boy … their angel. "Where is he?" she whispered now, broken-hearted already.

 _She watched this steadfast, tower of a man, lose himself before her now, noticing that he looked fuzzy around the edges, he was wearing street clothes, a long sleeved sweater and jeans as if he were some kind of peculiar apparition of himself. But she knew better. Panic rose again and she tried to rise off of the bed with it, her eyes searching his for answers. Bile traveled up from her reassess and she felt like vomiting, she lunged forward._

"Rachel … WHO?" he beseeched her, gently holding her face in his hands in an effort to get through to her, his eyes so close now she could see they were marred with fear. "Who do you want?" he whispered urgently. "Just tell me who you want!" he begged of her now.

"You …," she whispered, swallowing hard, staring at him. "And him …," she muttered, her mind deluge with a confusing array of facts … or was it all fiction? _Damn it._

"I'm here …," he answered, smoothing her hair back and away from her face. "Everything's going to be all right, now that you woke up …," he whispered, losing his resolve, the staccato of his breathing giving away to tears.

 _His panic further incited a frenzy within her now. Where is he? She shook her head, her chest was on fire and she reached up and pressed her hand to her clavicle, her skin was hot to the touch and she scoured her memory for what happened … she'd been shot! The realization hitting her akin to a barrage of fresh bullets now. Refusing to believe what her mind was trying to tell her though, she pushed on and through … trying desperately to go back in time! To get back to their baby! To find him again!_

Unable to hold himself together, Tom bent forward and covered his face with his hands, wiping his tears away, and only then did she see it – _his wedding band_ – just where it had been since they met, a perfect fit … sparkling gold against the overhead fluorescent lights.

And in that moment, Rachel's entire being radiated with pain and all color drained from her face over what was lost – _Where is he?_ – she heard herself repeating the failed mantra and therein, her heart truly broke – _her innermost thoughts falling to Tom where she reached for him, but then abruptly stopped herself, silently erecting the unspoken boundaries she and Tom had lived within in_ ** _this_** _life –_ because deep inside that moment of clarity was the truth: that everything … **_'he'_** and the idea of **_'them'_** ( _Tom and Rachel, Rachel and Tom_ ) … were simply a dream … her heart's desires.

 ** _To be continued …_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 2**

" _Dr. Scott … how are you doing in there? Still comfortable?"_ came the technician's deep voice from the microphone inside the CAT scan tunnel.

 _He sounded like he was a million miles away. An image of her dream-baby popped into her mind, residing there now, his intense all-seeing eyes still as blue and endless as the ocean, a calm day at sea._

She exhaled. "I'm all right," she answered slowly, closing her eyes – _listening to the hum of the scan and attempted to relax_ – her muscles atrophied, sore from being in bed for almost three weeks.

 _Three weeks._

 _Sadness prevailed now and she sighed inwardly with frustration, her mind deluge with her sudden health concerns, along with intense anxiety over her work and the greater good of the surviving populace. But what could she do? What more could she do than begin to work from her hospital bed? She knew that would be a fight!_

Eyes still closed she switched gears and tried to return to her normal mindset – _imagining now the shape and intricate design of the primordial strain_ – having had committed the monster to her memory long ago. Here she felt her adrenaline spike, those magic endorphins kicking in again – _she felt capable, useful, smart_ – she moved on to the schematics for the powder cure now, a fond memory of Bacon in the mess kitchen floating through her mind now wherein she wondered how the man was and if he'd made dinner for the President ( _on land_ ) yet.

" _We won't be long now, just another few minutes,"_ the technician informed her then, jarring her from her reverie of more stressful, yet somehow enjoyable times.

 _Rachel took a deep breath and fought off another round of tears, having kept herself in check since she had woken up (following her confused moments with Tom), feeling as though she couldn't fully digest all that had happened until she was truly alone or had a moment to think about her present condition – versus the blessed dream her subconscious had propelled her into – keeping her out of harm's way and in a divine state of bliss (a state of mind she had never experienced before, or perhaps never allowed herself seek out in all of her life) … she marveled now: the human mind was incredible force of its own making._

' _You're gorgeous …,' came Tom's thick baritone from some distant, beautiful place._

 _She blinked her tears away and an acute sadness claimed her again over what was lost (this beautiful idea of a baby, the sum total of her wild, whimsical dreamscape) all tucked away now where she pinned the memories to her heart for another time when she would permit herself to delve deeper into the why's and how's of it all._

And on that sentiment, she opened her eyes, testing her resolve, once again absorbing the whirlwind of activity she had endured in the hours since she had regained consciousness. Having had her catheter and feeding tube removed, along with a battery of mental acuity tests and a visit from her physical therapist, the fine doctors collectively determined ( _herself included_ ) – _that her brain having settled into a state of unconsciousness for the last several weeks was a blessing_ – for outside of lost time, she appeared to be mentally stable, insofar as her memory of the events leading right up to her meeting with her perpetrator in the hallway that night had remained intact. Which left her with this fact: _she had essentially escaped the most painful weeks of what would become her longer, more manageable recovery._

Testing her lucidity now, Rachel committed to memory what she learned about her trauma: that very soon after she had been shot, she had been transported here, to Barnes-Jewish Hospital ( _which even by the current standards was the best surviving hospital in the immediate area_ ) where she was taken into surgery and a debridement of her damaged muscles, tissue and cartilage was performed.

Subsequently, her shoulder, ribs and neck were braced to support the fixation of the area ( _especially her fractured scapula_ ). Admittedly, her team of doctors were very skilled and had provided her with the best chance at a full recovery given the injuries she had sustained, especially their treatment of her head contusion ( _a nasty bruise_ ) from her fall after the shot was fired, having been able to maintain her cranial pressure and avoid the need for surgery there.

" _We're all done, Dr. Scott … everything looks great!"_ came her young doctor's enthusiastic voice this time, she sounded like a cheerleader.

 _###_

 _Rachel opened her eyes and suddenly she was back in her room. The fluorescent lights offering only an opaque ambiance where everything appeared fuzzy at first._

Tom was still there ( _her underlying panic somewhat mitigated by his presence_ ). Her heart shook. Everything was so plain, so cold and ambiguous in this room, so different from whence she came – _the bright sun, the glistening ocean, the little babe's endless eyes_ – she could still see it … _all of it_ … and feel it deep in her bones.

A moment passed and she felt barren for a beat, once again missing something she never had. _She was okay, she reminded herself._ _No, she was a wreck, but she was also somehow … okay._ Her eyes were dry and she felt fatigued, her muscles and nerves still in turmoil. Her damaged shoulder and chest ached … _dull … sensitive … stiff_. She made a solid fist with her right hand and held it there for a long thirty seconds, silently testing her strength.

Turning her head slightly – _she scrutinized Tom now, his long legs crossed at his feet, his sleeves pushed up his forearms_ – his eyes focused on the laptop in front of him. Tilting her head just enough now, she realized that the corner of room looked more like an office than a place for visitors. There were two monitors situated on a credenza behind him; both with active screens, though she couldn't tell what was displayed. There were stacks of papers, most adorned with the Navy seal and sets of blueprints spread across the work table. She felt a small reflective smile cascade along her face – _he was working_ – she sighed, releasing a modicum of stress. She kept quiet and dutifully turned her attention to the assessment of her cognitive senses.

 _She quickly recalled now that the last thing she remembered was being wheeled back to her room on a gurney from her CT scan wherein she noticed two ensigns were positioned outside her doorway. With that memory intact now, she poked fun at the situation – for since her standoff with Tom regarding Neils, she'd gotten used to a security detail – though she knew now this was for an entirely different reason. Even so … the irony was not lost on her. She smiled. Her awareness in check now, she allowed her eyes to scan the room again without interruption._

Turning her attention back to Tom, she quietly watched him for a beat, noticing how exhausted he appeared to be – _the ambient light from the laptop screen somehow highlighting each demarcation of stress on his face, his hair a bit longer than she'd ever seen it_ – which resonated now, realizing that he had been here with her, quite a bit. She knew now, without question, that he was beleaguered by this ( _her shooting_ ) and even though, in all time they had known one another – _their lives were governed by varying degrees of stress coupled with extreme influxes of adrenaline_ – she had never seen him like this … _wearing his fatigue so plainly._

 _Unruly tears pricked at her eyes and she turned her face away from him, for she desperately wanted some quiet time to reflect – knowing that once he realized she was awake and they were alone – he would surely want to talk. And she wasn't sure she was ready for the realizations or honesty that would come with that conversation … and she definitely didn't think he was ready. Residual guilt aside, she couldn't stop the dreamscape from being … hers. She had to own it … she had to live with the guilt she felt with regards to creating such a vivid dream while Tom was still in mourning – and so for now – the burden belonged solely to her._

' _Find me' … he had said once not too long ago and this was not a dream … 'Find me' … and now she did … she just wasn't sure what, if anything, that meant now._

Inhaling, she blinked several times in rapid succession, keeping her tears at bay. She closed her eyes and inhaled another helping of the stale, chilly air and forced herself to further relax into the starchy hospital linens. Behind her, the door swung open.

" _Sir … I have the President on the line,"_ came a soft voice.

" _Hmm … should I still take my calls in here?"_ Tom asked quietly.

" _Yes … sure … Dr. Scott is used to your voice … and your activity in here, it's just as healthy for her to hear you all now, as it was while she was comatose,"_ the nurse articulated carefully ( _and she was correct_ ).

" _All right, thank you … patch him through then,"_ Tom answered. The door swung open and then everything was quiet again.

Rachel opened her eyes and quietly surveyed the contents of a bookcase directly in front of her, where curiously, many of the volumes therein belonged to her! Darting her eyes to the corner next to her bed on this side, she noticed there was an armchair, where she spotted her bound copy of her Master's Thesis & Dissertation sitting on the armrest. _Weird_ , was all she could think.

Looking over the bookcase again, she lost herself in the beauty of a potted orchid perched upon the top shelf – _delicate purple and white flowers, peat moss and soil_ – the plant gravitating toward the natural light coming from the window behind her. And so with her dry eyes focused on the beautiful flowers, she listened to Tom's half of his conversation with the President.

" _Hello, Mr. President,"_ he greeted, his voice low and deep. _"Yes … … she did,"_ he confirmed, with a sigh. _"The prognosis is good … yes, Sir … she's lucid … … in time … she'll make a full recovery … yes … … they think within the next couple of weeks … …. no, I have not spoken with her about that, yet … …,"_ he paused. _"If I may Sir, I'd like to keep with our same schedule here at the hospital … for the next several days …,"_ he requested hesitantly. _"Thank you … I agree, Sir … … despite everything, it's been working well …,"_ he exhaled. _"Oh … well … I'm hanging in there … we all are …,"_ he exhaled. _"Yes … I will let her know_ ," he answered. _"Bye now,"_ he added and hung the receiver up.

Processing the cryptic conversation, Rachel focused again on the bookcase, noticing now the interesting collection of books in addition to her virology reference volumes: _'The Mechanics of Crop-Dusting', 'Ancient Roman Warfare Tactics', 'The Wars of Alexander the Great: 336-323 BC', 'What to Expect When You're Expecting', 'A Child is Born'_ and _'The US Naval Regulation Code'._ Also, on the very bottom shelf, there was a basket of colored pencils, a sketch pad and an activity book of word searches and crossword puzzles.

 _All such curious findings to her now that she shifted slightly and turned her head without thinking, finding Tom's eyes as he looked up from his work. She pressed her lips together … and so did he. He exhaled, his pensive demeanor diminishing slightly as he stood and crossed the room, sitting down on the nearby chair where she first found him again._

"Hello …," she whispered, her eyes scanning his, naturally making sure of him.

He smiled warily and searched her eyes right back wherein she tried to maintain her composure within his proximity.

"Hello …," he said softly, then added, "Are you in any more pain than you can tolerate?"

"No … surprisingly," she answered; she sighed heavily.

"Do you need to see your doctors?" he wondered, his endless eyes still a darker blue … distressed … hesitant … vexed.

 _She wanted to answer 'yes', because she did have some concerns, but she hedged instead – for she wasn't ready to share with him that her mental acuity alarmed her somewhat – even though she far surpassed where she should be (for someone emerging from a coma) … something still felt off._

 _In large part she attributed this to her vivid dreamscape and the abrupt manner in which her brain had detached her from it. Another concern was her output, her voice and the way it still sounded strange to her own ears – she knew the words she wanted to say instantly – but she still sensed she was taking too long to answer when prompted, not necessarily a speech delay, but definitely something she would be keen to point out to the neurologist when they spoke again._

" _Rachel …,"_ came Tom's voice, he set his warm hand over hers, gently pulling her from her thoughts, she looked down at their hands.

"Oh … my apologies …," she mumbled, her eyes still downcast. She looked up to find him. "Did I not answer you?" she wondered, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

Tom's face softened, he shook his head, _'no'_. She sighed heavily. "I wondered if you needed to see your doctors or the charge nurse … or anyone in particular?" he asked of her then.

' _Just you … and him …,'_ she found herself answering silently. "I'm all right …," she replied aloud, trying her best to allay his concerns. He smiled weakly and she swallowed hard, her throat was scratchy.

 _Intuitively, Tom raised her bed slightly and poured a cup of water for her and passed it to her, setting it in her left hand. Her hand shook and in an instant, his hand was around hers where he dropped a straw into the cup and helped her hold it steady as she took a few sips of the room temperature water. She wanted to say 'thank you', but she was at a loss for words. She felt pretty helpless, which was new … and strange. The menacing glare of the man who shot her funneled into her mind just then and without warning, tears formed in her eyes and Tom became a blurred mess in front of her._

He found her eyes. "It won't always be like this, you know …," he offered then, setting the cup down on the bedside table.

She nodded in assent, her tears receding now as he sat down. She exhaled. "What happened to the assailant?" she wondered then, her shoulder radiating, furtive stress poking at her wounds.

 _Tom pressed his lips together and began to relay what had happened that night in tandem to her being brought in to the emergency room. The story went that the boys – Burk, Miller, Wolf and Cruz – had gone out to a local watering hole within walking distance of the hotel once the bar in the lobby had closed for the night. It was there that they encountered or overheard a disorderly man preaching to a bunch of customers about how he "offed the lady doc who made the cure."_

 _Sobering up quickly, Cruz exited the bar and headed back to the hotel to confirm the crazy man's statements. Meanwhile, the balance of the crew staged an ambush just outside the bar wherein they hauled the perpetrator back to the Nathan James, tossing him into the brig. From there matters of due course went into play where the man – one of Ramsey's brainwashed enthusiasts – was being held without the possibility of bail … his final charge predicated on whether she would survive._

"So he can't to get me and finish the job," she stated evenly.

Tom shook his head – _'no'_ – exhaling on that truth. "There's a fight against the last of the Immune's who'd been brainwashed … that's what all this is about," he said pointing to the makeshift office behind him. "Surveillance … tracking … small pockets … uprisings of the opposition that will have to be dealt with," he surmised evenly.

"Hence my security detail," Rachel quipped then. "I suppose some things never change," she teased with a wry grin.

Tom laughed. "Hey, President's orders … not mine!" he smiled, putting his hands up in mock protest, his gorgeous eyes dancing now.

 _Rachel held his gaze for a long moment then, for in those last seconds – it almost felt like 'them' again, like they were partners – back to how it was in those fleeting moments after the success of the vaccine trials … before Baltimore … and Neils. Everything grew quiet and she turned toward the window to her right, the January sky became a shade darker and the recycled air, chillier._

She shivered and sighed in resignation and dared herself to speak. "I feel … I must apologize for scaring you when I woke up … I was confused and overwhelmed, you see …," she whispered, her voice cracking into the silence.

"No need …," he answered, following her gaze through the window. "I tried to help you without scaring you even more, you were pretty … devastated …," he articulated evenly. "You were … looking for someone …," he prompted, turning his attention back to her.

"Yes … I remember …," she sighed, turning back to him. _Where is he?_ _Where is he?_ … her heart ached for the baby, even now. Unshed tears crowded her eyes. "Everything was so … perplexing, so vastly … different … …,"

"Different then where you were in that beautiful mind of yours …," Tom wondered, cracking a small smile.

"Something like that …," she answered with a similar smile. "I'm …," she shook her head. "It's not beautiful, by the way… my mind … it's … complicated," she whispered; her heart shimmied, _flip, flop_.

"I beg to differ," Tom sighed with his same smile. "I bet it wherever you ended up was – _beautiful and captivating and … extraordinary_ – otherwise, maybe you would have woken up sooner …," he supposed, pressing his lips together.

She smiled; reflecting now. "Perhaps … the human brain is an amazing entity when left to its own survival tactics …," she declared evenly. "Everything was so simple and clean … so peaceful and … …,"

"Profound?" Tom ventured a guess, his eyes fastened to hers now.

"Yes …," she answered, somewhat mystified, her mind abundant with indelible memories: _sun, sand, beach, surf, love and lust._ "It was … intense …," she whispered, her heart trembled and she boldly set her hand on top of his.

 _Tom looked down and turned his hand upwards, wrapping his fingers around her hand, palm to palm now. Rachel closed her eyes on the gesture and felt an aura of peace overpower her. Lone tears popped free from the corners of her eyes and she let them slide down her face. She opened her gateways and Tom shifted, leaning in, face to face with her now._

"It was the same here …," he intimated. "Everything seemed so … final," he whispered; his voice raw, his brow knitted. "I wasn't sure you would make it …," he exhaled. "Your doctors were optimistic … but …I still wanted more … time … with you," he admitted candidly, his eyes glassy now; she squeezed his hand.

 _The hair on Rachel's neck bristled and her threadbare emotions clogged her throat. She stared at him, this man whom she revered so … this man she had loved so … deeply in her dreamscape – she wanted to reach for him, to soothe him – to escheat his pain somehow and yet, she held herself together, for this was his precipice to stand upon … for this was about was his side of things._

"I mean … after everything we went through … everything, the unforeseen, the unspeakable, the victories … and the defeats – _I just kept thinking, to lose you like that, to lose you to this_ – it felt like another cruel twist of fate … another loss I wasn't expecting or ready for …," he uncharacteristically rambled on; his voice shook, cracking under the pressure.

"Tom …," she whispered his name, her lips quivered and she shook her head; for she could say nothing more about fate and its cruelty.

He shook his head in tandem and swallowed hard, regaining his composure slightly. "Where were you anyway?" he breathed, holding himself together, his insecurities laid out before her now akin to an offering.

"On an island …," she replied simply, unable to look away from the intensity of his stare. She smiled reflectively _._

"With me?" he prompted, his voice cracking wide open, his eyes instantly glassy.

 _She nodded – 'Yes, with you' – her cheeks heating on the truth. Her throat constricted, the words would not come today – and not because she didn't know what to say – but because of the guilt the truth might incite. 'Yes with you … there was only you … and him, our baby … and us,' she whispered to herself._

"And … we were okay?" he persisted, continuing his search for answers.

 _Fat tears slid down her and she nodded in assent – 'yes, yes, yes' – but she held her tongue still, for that was a conversation for another day … possibly for another lifetime entirely._ ' _Where is he?' came her chant again, floating in and out of her mind like the rolling waves of the ocean against the shoreline … repetitive, systematic … natural._

" _Rachel …,"_ came Tom's voice; he squeezed her hand, his eyes still fixed upon hers. "Talk to me … please …," he implored, leaning in, he set his free hand along her cheek.

 _And in that moment of proximity – her heart shimmied, her skin pricked with heat – his eyes, so clear and gorgeous and sincere that she thought she might have folded, but the door swung open and Tom turned, breaking their connection wherein she looked up to find Danny and Kara, dressed in street clothes, stepping over the threshold where they stopped with broad smiles covering their young faces as they stood in shock._

"Dr. Scott!" Kara exclaimed from her same spot, her round happy face, flushed with new life as she approached the bed, her pretty eyes dancing.

Danny smiled broadly and followed his woman. "You look great … wow …," he beamed at her and turned to Tom. "We're just here for our shift –"

"Shift?" Rachel prompted curiously, her eyes vacillating between Danny and Tom.

"No, no … that's my fault," Tom assured with a grin. "Everything happened so fast … come on in …,"

 _###_

 _Having coaxed Tom into going out with Danny for a bit of fresh air and to check in with his father and children – Kara helped Rachel brush her long, wild tresses now, standing off and to the side of the bed – wherein Rachel was so thankful for someone to help her with this task, knowing it could be months before she would have a full range of motion with her right arm and shoulder. She exhaled and allowed herself to relax into the repetitive sensation of Kara's strokes, realizing now it had to be at least thirty years since someone else had brushed her hair. She smiled to herself and thought of her mother, a feeling of peace and calm washing over her as she did._

 _Tomorrow she would tackle a shower, but in the meantime she sat back and listened with rapt attention to Kara's animated story of her engagement where Rachel found herself alighted by such wonderful news, imagining Danny in her mind's eye as he sought the perfect time to propose. They were a sweet couple, their pending nuptials and baby on the way an irrefutable reminder that life did in fact move on … and people did survive and that good did prevail … and it was all so beautiful to contemplate._

Rachel smiled when Kara finished, laying back and into the pillows, her shoulder pinching her with pain as she did. "What did you mean before, that you were here for your shift?" she wondered then, moving through the discomfort, she crossed her legs under the coverlet.

Kara set the hairbrush down and sat on the chair beside the bed. "Oh, well … we took turns, being with you …," she reported with a small pretty smile.

"For what? Why?" Rachel whispered, her mind on overdrive, wondering what it must have been like in this room … _cold, barren, depressing._ She shivered.

"To be here, with you … in case you woke up," Kara answered softly.

"But … there are nurses here, all the time," Rachel rationalized, her heart shimmying at their thoughtfulness.

"We know … but Captain wanted –" she stopped herself. "No … no … we all thought it would be better if you woke up and someone you knew was here," she whispered, searching Rachel's eyes. "It was pretty bad … Dr. Scott," she intimated.

"Lieutenant … Kara, please … it's Rachel …," she smiled.

"All right …," the young woman smiled.

Rachel smiled weakly, suddenly so tired of her wandering emotions. "So …,"

"So … you were barely ever alone …," Kara recounted now. "We just wanted you to wake up … so badly," she whispered. "I'm so happy," she sighed, her eyes glassy now.

"Me too," Rachel whispered, smiling at the young mother-to-be. "Thank you … for being here," she added. "There were times since this whole mess started, I wondered – _often wondered, what I was doing_ – or how or where I would end up when it was all over … …," she sighed heavily, shaking her head, her heart twisted.

"Thankfully, it's not over yet …," Kara said, reaching for her hand.

Rachel smiled and squeezed. "I enthusiastically agree," she whispered. "I never gave it a thought – _after Baltimore, with Granderson_ – thereafter I never worried about my overall safety …," she sighed, losing herself.

"Keeping you out of harm's way was always part of the mission – _it_ _ **was**_ _the mission_ – which I know isn't news … but now…," Kara smiled, tilting her head.

Rachel exhaled. "Now?" she wondered.

"You matter to us … in a way, I don't think we realized until now, sure you saved us all… but now you're part of the crew too …," Kara intimated, a lone tear sliding down her face now. "It was an amazing day, the day we made port here … well, the curing people part, anyway," she laughed weakly.

Rachel nodded in assent. "It was … an incredible day," she sighed, feeling as though it was years ago already … _her heart shook with pride, joy_. "Together … we saved one other again and again," she breathed, her thoughts centered on the Nathan James and the Captain and what the ship and the crew had come to mean to her … _safety, familiarity … a family … a home_.

 _###_

"May I see my chart please?" Rachel asked of Kara a little while later. "It's at the foot of the bed," she pointed.

Kara leaned down and handed the case file to Rachel. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she wondered.

 _Rachel rapidly flipped through the chart – flip, flip, flip – she bypassed all of the medical intelligence, for she knew it all by heart already, having consented to her own diagnosis, prognosis and care._

"Yes, it's a fine idea," Rachel answered with a wry grin. "I know everything that's recorded in here, but I wanted to see something … else ...," she whispered. "Ah here," she said, halting when she found what she was looking for: _her approved visitors list._

Rachel reviewed the list, noticing a schedule attached, a rotation of sorts. "Found what you needed?" Kara asked of her.

"Yes …," Rachel answered, the page became blurred, the names all overlapping now as she committed them to memory and handed the cumbersome chart back to Kara.

 _Kara smiled and peered down at the schedule. From there she informed Rachel that Master Chief Jeter and XO Slattery (soon to be promoted to Captain) would work while they visited, so they were almost always scheduled together. And Tex would invariably bring his lovely daughter, Kathleen, who would slip out from time to time to volunteer for the hospital. She also reported that Burk often came alone or with Bertrise, while Wolf and Miller would share a longer shift. Doc Rios and Dr. Milowsky came when time permitted, but usually worked in the satellite office (in her room) when they were scheduled._

"He's been here a lot, if that's what you were wondering …," Kara eventually offered with a long sigh.

"I see that … he's listed there quite a bit," Rachel said softly … _Chandler, Chandler, Chandler._

"His family hadn't arrived until last week … so … he spent his time here, with you …," she reported, slipping the chart back into its holder, her eyes pinned to Rachel's. "He was working of course and the timing wasn't all that terrible actually – _with the ship being readied for dry-dock_ – he's just been managing the process from here instead of an office or on the James …," Kara elaborated, rambling slightly, she filled in the blanks.

Rachel smiled weakly. "I never imagined I would be a burden, you know, like this – _I spent my whole life taking care of myself_ – studying, working … off and running, all over the world," she sighed wistfully, suddenly so tired her body ached. She stifled an emotional yawn.

"Actually … and I hope you realize – _this isn't scuttlebutt, I'm not, you know, talking_ _ **about**_ _the Captain, the Chief of Naval Operations, rather_ – but off the record … … woman to woman … I can tell … …," her voice trailed off. "He cares … about you …," she asserted, her pretty eyes vacillating.

Rachel exhaled, nodding in assent, her heart trembling … _'he cares'_. "Well … that's something we have in common then …," she confessed, staring at her new friend.

 _###_

 _Roused from a twilight sleep, Rachel's eyes swept the room and she was surprised to find Tom situated on the lounge chair in the corner; his eyes closed, the lone fluorescent light casting an endless shadow over him. She glanced at the clock – it was just after seven – he must have slipped back in once she'd fallen asleep. Her eyes fixed on him now, she noticed his breathing was slow, deliberate, his hands clasped over his abdomen. And while his face was relaxed, his all-consuming intensity tapered for now, she knew that was short-lived, for he probably never slept too deeply, for a man such as he had seen enough, been through enough – even before the virus – to keep deep sleep at bay._

 _Regardless, she sighed with relief, thinking that maybe he would get some much needed rest now that his children and father were nearby again … and that she appeared to be out of the woods._

 _The air was frigid. Shivering, her eyes dipped shut and she she hunkered down to chase her body's heat, shifting slightly, she breathed through a pinch of pain that shot from her shoulder blade down to her lower back … she exhaled sharply and sucked a breath back in to mitigate its hold upon her. Tom stirred and she looked to him, watching as his eyes popped open and zeroed in on her._

"You came back," she said, her voice hitched into the quiet, her heart rate accelerating as he stood.

"The truth?" he sighed as he approached her. She nodded in assent. "I thought about you waking up like this alone ... and that bothered me," he exhaled, he was nothing if not honest. "I know there are nurses but –"

"I'm glad you're here," Rachel interrupted, setting her hand on top of his.

Tom leaned in; he smelled of coffee and aftershave. "Do you need something for the pain?" he asked of her then, his fatigue evident even in the relative darkness.

She shook her head. "No, no drugs – _I want all of my faculties_ – I'm apprehensive to sleep too deeply …," she sighed, relaxing her head back against the pillows, she smiled up at him. "Plus tomorrow, I aim to get out of this bed! And then I'm sure I'll know what real pain is and I'll be begging for meds," she smirked and elicited a small chuckle out of Tom.

He smiled and pressed his lips together. "Understood," he said, his tone, low and deep and more how she remembered it to be: _confident, subdued … steady._

She smiled in tandem and then asked, "May I ask what my dissertation is doing there?"

Tom looked over his shoulder and turned around with a smile reaching his eyes. "I've been reading it to you …," he declared simply, his boyish charm on display. "Your neurologist said reading to you might help draw you out … most nights, I think it put me to sleep though," he chided evenly.

Rachel's laughter filled the relative silence. "You poor, poor man," she smirked.

"You have no idea," he said dryly with a sly smile. "I thought it would be more interesting to you than a novel – _but I did read to you about crop-dusting too_ – hoping for another breakthrough …," he whispered conspiratorially, his voice trailing off.

"I saw that volume there," she smiled, her eyes meeting his.

Tom turned toward the bookcase, sitting on the edge of the bed now. "See that … all we've been reading to you?" he prompted, pointing to the volumes. "That's Lieutenant Green, right there," he said with a grin, pointing to the book about Alexander the Great. "And … well, there's the Naval Code, that has Miller written all over it," he chuckled. "And well, _'A Child is Born'_ … likely belongs to Lieutenant Foster, with Green nearby, of course …," he reported, turning back to her.

"Of course …," Rachel whispered, her cheeks heating now. She stifled a yawn and then exhaled. "My apologies," she breathed.

Tom smiled. "No need," he assured. "I'll leave you to rest," he said softly, standing up.

Rachel's heart clamored and she reached for his hand. "Will I see you tomorrow?" she dared herself to ask him.

"You bet," he replied, lacing his fingers through hers. He sat on the chair next to her bed instead, eye to eye now. He exhaled. "We have a rotation, shifts –"

"I'm aware …," she asserted, tilting her head toward him.

Tom smiled awkwardly. "I asked Michener to allow for this, our schedule – _working here, visiting you_ – to continue for the next few days … he sends his regards by the way," he went on with a tight smile.

"That's nice … and I'd like that – _as much as your schedule permits_ – no pressure of course …," she sighed, rambling into the night. She yawned and felt her eyes dip shut.

" _We'll make it work,"_ he assured her, his voice smooth and serene … and then all was quiet.

" _Don't leave …,"_ she heard her desperate plea as it hung in the air. Her eyes popped open.

 _Rachel shook her head at her veritable weaknesses, silently chastising herself. She felt selfish. Weak. Tears crowded her eyes … Who was this woman? 'Where is he?' … her heart raced ... aching. Her throat constricted and she felt herself unravel, ever so slightly. Her scar tissue, inflamed, pricking at her now._

Tom leaned forward and whispered, "I'll be here."

"I just got scared … for a moment," she admitted, setting her free hand over healing bullet wound. "I'm all right …," she breathed, staring at him now. "Maybe … just wait until I fall asleep … I know the children must be missing you …," she added, her heart accelerating on the truth.

"They are … but they know I'm here, where I need to be …," he answered honestly, sucking in a deep breath, he caressed her fingers with his. "My father … he knows how … … they're just happy you're awake … we all are," he sighed heavily.

"Me too …," she whispered into their shared space … because she really was … _happy._

 _Her eyes shut then, closing on their own accord now, for acute exhaustion had caught up with her and she could do no more than hold Tom's hand and dream of tomorrow … of another day … of another chance to survive … to live, to work … and maybe even to fall in love._

' _Find me,' he had said once, not too long ago, and she did … and now she had an idea of what that meant … because 'he cared' and so did she. They cared … and that was enough for now._

 _And so as Rachel surrendered to the liquid darkness and allowed it claim her for just one night now – she listened to her would-be-dream-lover as he spoke to her – holding her hand, his familiar, honest baritone soothing her like nothing else._

 _###_

" _Rachel … it's not easy to admit this now in light of what happened – it would have been easier, for me, and maybe for you – if you'd just gone away on that trip, because I wouldn't have asked you to find me when you got back … … if I didn't mean it … if I wasn't going to be ready to talk about this thing we have for one another … this … connection … … … …_

 _… … … … but this wake-up call … just made it all so real … because, Rachel – it turns out this is no dream – instead it's … our impetus … our beginning … because we're an evolution, because we survived … … … and I know, just like you would have given me the time I needed … I know when you're ready to tell me more about your dream – the one with you and me on that island you didn't want to leave – I know you'll find me and tell me all about it … and I'll be ready to listen."_

 _ **To be continued …**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Many thanks to those readers leaving guest or anonymous reviews, I truly appreciate your readership and the time you take to leave a review.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 3**

Tom stepped out of Rachel's room and into the well-lit hallway. He exhaled a sigh of relief. _'She was okay'_ , he reminded himself. She would open her eyes to see another day and with the last exhaustive thirty-six hours, aside … this was the only fact that mattered. She pulled through. Prayers had been answered, though in haste, perhaps drawing her back before she was ready. _'Where is he?' came her desperate plea out of nowhere, her grief-stricken face, her frantic eyes, pummeling his helpless heart again._ He turned leave, nodding to the ensign on duty and then smiled tightly when the Head Nurse, Rose Wilson, stood up from behind the main desk.

She smiled, her hazel, all-seeing eyes saying everything he needed to know without words. She was brilliant in that way, he decided then. For throughout this entire ordeal, Rose was always there – _she had this calming, 'I've seen it all' attitude_ – as if nothing fazed her. She would say that surviving this virus – _having been the lone survivor of her family_ – contributed to her no-nonsense attitude, but Tom knew better. He had a feeling she had always been feisty and straightforward and he truly appreciated that about her.

For in his darkest, most confused, conflicted moments – _where life decisions had to be made on Rachel's behalf_ – Rose was there. _With him_. In the thick of it. Explaining medical jargon to him in layman's terms, staying at his side well beyond her shifts and into the night … especially when she sensed he simply could not leave. And on those evenings, they would sit together in Rachel's darkened room and quietly talk about life and the greater meaning of all this – _the destiny and fate of it all_ – and what might happen next. Rose reminded him of his mother and Russ Jeter combined into one entity … and she was amazing.

"She's asleep," he announced, approaching the desk where he leaned against the counter, eye to eye with her now.

"She really is out of the woods, you know," she counseled softly, pushing her short blond hair behind her ears. "This is supposed to be the good part, remember?" she smiled, her unwavering eyes pinned to his.

"I know … might just take some getting used to …," he replied evenly, leaning on his forearms, twirling his wedding band around his finger … _an endless, timeless reminder, twirl, twirl_. "I just keep thinking about how she woke up … she was so scared…," his voice trailed off. He stopped fidgeting with his ring, eyeing the relic carefully. "And this – _intense dream she had_ – her doctors said it's perfectly normal for coma patients to have them … …," he sighed, shaking his head.

"But …," Rose prodded gently, tilting her head, she found his eyes.

"She won't tell me anything … except that we were together," he sighed heavily.

"To me this makes sense …," Rose smiled now. "Think of what you know, Tom … what you've been telling me since we met – _she's a fighter, a force to be reckoned with_ – the most tenacious and brilliant person you know …," she sighed. He held her gaze. "Your words …," she reminded him.

"All true," he answered, nodding his head, because she was all of that … and more.

"So in her own strong-willed way, she wants to keep the dream to herself for now … the important thing is that she's awake and lucid …," Rose counseled wisely.

"Of course, you're right …," he sighed. "Turns out I'm just a selfish brut …," he chuckled with a wry grin.

Rose smirked. "No … just someone who cares …," she said, patting his hand. "Give her some time – _let her live up to her reputation_ – and about this dream … … the brain has the means for coveting what it needs and wants …," she counseled with a knowing smile.

' _What it needs and wants' Tom repeated silently then. 'Where is he?' came Rachel's demand again, the ferocious shrill of her call, innate … raw._

Tom cleared his throat. "Well, you know best," he surmised evenly. "In light of everything on my end … I just want … ….," his breathed wherein he lost himself ( _to move forward, to survive this … to be more and to mean more … to her_ ), his eyes welled with stifled, unruly emotion.

"Tom …," Rose sighed, reaching forward she took his left hand in hers. "You're both going to survive this," she encouraged, giving him a squeeze.

"That's the hope," he surmised evenly.

 _For that had been the goal – 'Be safe,' he had said, 'Find me', he had said and he meant it – until every plan and commitment he had made to fully mourn Darien and make peace with with himself was derailed by Rachel's shooting._

"Do yourself a service … and let go of your guilt …," Rose advised candidly then; Tom looked up. "Trust me, from a professional and personal viewpoint … survivor's guilt doesn't really do anyone any good …," she exhaled on the truth.

"No?" he pondered, challenging himself now as he stared at the wise woman, searching her eyes for answers.

 _His heart aching for Darien now as he once again prepared himself to accept her death and the way their beautiful life together had ended … so abruptly and with such unforeseen tragedy. His eyes stung on the truth. His mind wild with supplication now – for they had almost made it – almost made it to Baltimore in time … and yet, he still wondered why they didn't. Wondered why his beloved Darien wasn't spared … why she wasn't meant to be safe from the dangers that confounded them all … and why, why hadn't he been able to protect her._

 _And thereafter, within that vast realm of uncertainty, Tom also wondered if his intensifying feelings for Rachel over time were born solely out of circumstance … or something more ethereal like fate or destiny. Something told him it was the latter and he'd be a liar if he didn't find that perplexing – for it seemed the very idea of love, in and of itself, was marred by tragedy – no matter which woman he faced._

" _Listen … Tom …,"_ came Rose's soothing voice from far away; he focused on her again. "Guilt like this only prolongs the pain and halts the inevitable –"

"Which is?" he prompted; his stomach turned.

"Moving forward – _living again in the here and now_ – surrounded by those in your life who still need, love and admire you …," she sighed, her eyes glassy. "Your kids and father … and your fabulous crew…," she smiled with pride. "Rachel included …," she added softly.

Tom exhaled. "In theory, I know you're right …," he agreed, his voice low. He pressed his lips together. "It's the practice part that I'm not sure about … it's complicated now that we're off the ship … and life is … **_was_** going to begin again …," he shook his head.

" **Is** Tom … she's on her way to a full recovery … and so are you," Rose intimated and walked around her desk and came to stand in front of him. "And that's a common theme these days – _the complicated aftermath_ – the healing and moving on part …," she sighed, her eyes wistful, yet resolute, surely thinking of her own struggles of survival.

"It certainly is …," Tom agreed, his thoughts centralizing on everything the crew had endured to get even this far … to survive – _to live and breathe and spread the cure_ – and therein he paused to admire Rachel.

 _And in that moment, everything clicked, falling into place – because Rose was right – nothing about any of this, the state of the world, the predicaments they all faced, made any sense and yet … the struggle for survival was certainly worth it, for what was the other choice?_

 _And therein, he also realized that nothing he did now would change where he stood at this very moment – upon this precipice of a life reinvented – 'she was okay', he reminded himself again, for that had been the wish he pinned his hopes to with tenacity over the last three weeks. He just wanted her to make it and she did … and that had to mean something too._

"You remind me of my mother, Rose …," he declared softly then … _because she did._

"Really?" she breathed, her steady eyes trained on his. "I'm flattered," she added.

"You should be … she was a remarkable woman," he smiled down at her … _because she really was._

 _###_

 _With his mind on autopilot, Tom made it all the way from the hospital to the hotel and into the elevator, up to the makeshift 'Presidential Wing' before he had a coherent thought again, hesitating just outside of his suite now. His eyes swept the hallway, nodding at the ensigns positioned at the opposite end. They were staying here for now, the kids in a two-room suite with him, his father in an adjoining room next door._

 _He knew it would be rough – this final part of letting go – for up until that day three weeks ago, Tom had been hedging. Buying time, avoiding his grief over losing Darien by directing his energy at maintaining a distance from Rachel (veiled and aided by their stalemate over Neils) … and by steering his course against the Ramsey's … and by waiting to make landfall and spread the cure and the hope that went along with it._

 _Yes, he waited. Waited and hedged … … and then she told him – just around the corner from this very spot – that she was leaving and inside that moment, he remembered feeling as though he was sucker-punched. 'We're not on the ship, so it's not really up to you anymore,' she sang playfully and he realized she was right. And so she was leaving, but it felt an awful lot like she was leaving …_ ** _him_** _. 'Be safe,' … was all he could say at first – stilling his heart – maintaining his persona of control ... his voice, low … careful. And on that memory, he slipped the key card into the slot and slowly pushed the door open._

He exhaled and closed the door quietly behind him, his father looking up from a book to find him. The elder Chandler smiled tightly. "How is she?" he inquired of Rachel.

"She's all right, the same … out of the woods," Tom sighed and slipped his coat and shoes off. He sat down next to his father and craned his neck up and back where he stared at the ceiling for a long beat. "Thanks for waiting up," he breathed, pushing himself back and into the sofa where he held his father's patient gaze. "How are the kids?" he asked, his eyes darting to their door, cracked open.

"They're doing just fine," Jed smiled, pride reaching his careworn eyes. "It's you I'm still a bit concerned about," he intuited evenly.

"I'm all right, just trying to make sense out of it all," Tom replied, inhaling sharply.

 _Relaxing back, he closed his eyes and disappeared into the quiet solitude of his father's steady energy, for the pressures that confounded Tom were no secret to his father who'd been his sounding board since Rachel went down. Having lost Tom's mother years ago – he readily spoke about his own feelings of loss – and how, eventually, he learned to cope. And while the circumstances of their wives' deaths were drastically different … the pain was no different or less real. The finality was the same: abrupt, surreal, bewildering and eternal. Gone forever, but not forgotten._

" _Tommy …,"_ came his father's baritone. Tom opened his eyes. "I'm proud of you, Son …," he said simply then, getting right to the heart of the matter. Tom nodded in assent. "I think you need to hear that," he asserted.

"Thanks, Dad …," he exhaled, his voice cracking into the silence.

 _A frenzy of emotions funneled to his surface now, overwhelming him – the limbo of the last three weeks maintaining its choke hold – while memories of their collective journey (his and Rachel's) breached his emotions and played out in his mind's eye, a tangled web of adrenaline and misery and defeat and victory … and hope. His heart trumpeted; banging around, absent of a succinct rhythm now: panic ensued._

 _He found his wedding band and set his fingers upon the smooth gold and held it steady, stilling his heart. He felt sick and dared to ask himself: how could he ever remove it … this symbol of love and longevity? Slip it off? Talk to his children about his feelings for a woman who was not their mother? Who does that? And how? How could he?_

' _Where is he?' came Rachel's frantic call. Tom didn't know … where or who … but with everything he had left in him: he knew he wanted to find out._

Leaning forward on his elbows, his father encroached upon him now. "Listen, Tommy," he whispered thickly, his wise eyes pinned to his son's. "We're your family, there's no judgment here …," he sighed heavily. "I know you're worried about the kids – _but you don't have to be_ – just be open and honest with them and yourself … and let the evolution of things with life _…_ and Rachel _…_. materialize …," he counseled.

 _Panic rose again. Tom shook his head._

"I don't want this!" he whispered harshly, standing up. "I didn't ask for this!" he paced, walking toward the large windows, his reflection stared back at him … he blinked, his heart thumped into his ears. His father came to stand at his side. "I don't want them to see me have to make these choices," he husked in a panic, getting to the root of his issues. "I don't want to diminish Darien's death by … **living** … or by moving on without her …," he confessed urgently, looking through his reflection and into the dark night sky.

"There's no right answer here," Jed sighed, setting his hand on Tom's shoulder. "But I know you've predicated a lot of your decisions on when and how to move forward upon Rachel's waking up," he sighed heavily.

Tom nodded in assent, because it was the truth. He turned to face his father. "Just tell me what to do," he pleaded like a child, the words came out slow and methodical, though he only felt desperation. "I feel so badly for the kids … I'm … heartbroken …," he breathed, blinking his tears into recession.

"I know you are, Son … but listen – _right here at this moment_ – you can decide to mourn Darien forever or honor her by making something more out of her legacy," he reasoned, looking up.

Tom sighed and leaned against the window pane, the glass, cold and somehow soothing. "Easier said than done ...," he exhaled.

"Agreed … but in the end, the tragedy of her death along with the rest of our family in all likelihood _– does not have to govern what we do or how we choose to live_ ** _now_** – and nor should it …," he counseled, turning to face Tom, his weathered eyes softening around the edges now. "Their deaths should not be in vain … rather, the foundation of how we move forward …," he exhaled.

"You sound like Russ," Tom stated evenly, thinking now of the many late nights his ardent Master Chief spent with him at the hospital.

Jed chuckled. "I'm glad for that," he smiled broadly. "Listen … we survived and that has to mean something bigger than residing within a vacuum of survivor's guilt … at least for me it does," he inhaled sharply, nodding his head.

 _###_

Having showered and changed into a t-shirt and sweats, Tom sat on the armchair in the far corner of his suite next to a large set of windows. The room smelled of furniture polish and the air temperature had been warmed slightly by the humidity of his shower. The interior of the enclave was dark and comforting, save for a shadow of light reflecting off of the full moon high in the sky behind him. It was just after midnight.

Presently he scrutinized the well-made bed in front of him, having no desire to slip between the cool sheets and cave into the relaxation his muscles and nerves screamed for. Moreover, his eyes were fatigued down to their sockets, but he just couldn't bring himself to retire – _for he had far too much on his mind_ – rationalizing now that sleep surely would have evaded him anyway.

Instead, he fell into an easy pattern of meandering thoughts ( _and avoidance_ ). His weary mind wandering now to his father and the advice he had given him: _to honor those who perished versus mourning them in perpetuity._ And therein his thoughts moved to the ancient practice of burial at sea and the honor and dignity that went along with the ceremonial act.

Before long his thoughts circulated around the sailors he'd lost during this mission and suddenly Lieutenant Chung's humble face was all he saw … down in Engineering Room that night when they shared some much appreciated pineapple after making landfall on Seranna Bank. Tears pricked at his eyes, quietly reflecting now as he mourned and honored this fine young man. For in time, Tom was sure – _Chung would have been one of the greats_ – a forward thinking, calculated risk taker who had an eye for the more human side of things.

 _Tom shook his head. The open wounds of their journey still fresh – his own slow-healing scar tissue still sensitive at times – with Rachel's careful sutures, a constant reminder from whence they came._

And within those painful scars and ugly reminders, Tom asked himself: _did these sailors die in vain?_ As a Captain, he was damn sure it was his job to ensure that they didn't, which really was the secondary reason he felt so impassioned to ensure Rachel's survival after the shooting. Because in the end, her waking up confirmed that they had indeed done it: _successfully completed this mission that originated with her fight for the Nathan James._ And because, as it turned out, he wasn't the only one who was committed to her survival, for his crew – _his inner circle really rallied around her and he was glad for it_ – glad they were there for her ( _and for him_ ), throughout this unexpected turn of events.

Alighted by those thoughts, Tom rose from his seat and came to stand in front of the window – _his uneasy reflection disappearing now_ – for he was no competition for the moon, both bright and familiar, though further away than ever before. He then thought about the Nathan James and the way her vast decks glowed in the moonlight, with her battleship gray exterior … simple, elegant, durable and timeless.

He exhaled and considered this steadfast Arleigh Burke-class destroyer ( _their home_ ), and her platform upon which they fought for the survival of the human race. He then thought about everything the crew had endured upon her decks – _shell casings and blood and missiles and sub attacks and death –_ and yet the Nathan James stood strong and held her own, tenaciously guarded by the bravery of her crew … especially those who died whilst defending her.

 _And therein, it would seem that Tom had come full circle, ending precisely where he started: burials at sea._

 _###_

 _Standing taller now, Tom thought about those unexpected ceremonies held on the expansive decks of the Nathan James – service dress whites (bright, clean, fresh), American flags, both waving in the nautical breeze and subsequently folded for the fallen. Gun salutes (three succinct fires), the weight of a corpse as it descended off the deck and plummeted into the sea far below – the anchor lowered, engines idled, pausing – and words … biblical, spiritual … and traditional words that transcended a sailor to a different space and time for a long, reflective moment to mourn and to honor fallen shipmates._

 _And as he ruminated about those moments passed upon the decks of his home with the sun high in the sky, surrounded by the wild blue yonder of the vast horizon – Tom dared himself to think of Darien – and how he didn't have a chance to honor her before mourning her or vice-versa. His fingertips found his wedding band and he held it in place, grounding himself now._

 _He took a stacked, cleansing breath and imagined his sweet Darien … healthy (without the telltale markings of the virus), yet lifeless all the same. Her pretty, expressive eyes closed … her pink mouth, relaxed … her soul at peace. She was a beautiful woman and he decided to remember her that way. He twirled his ring around his finger, the smooth gold soothing him, still … even now. He thought of the way her hand fit so well into his and the way she would kiss him senseless every time he came home from a tour._

 _His waiting tears fell._

 _Silently, he plunged deeper within his mind's eye now and prepared her (and himself) for her burial at sea … a ceremony she more than deserved. Quietly, he allowed himself to fully mourn her now – his partner in life, his lover – the mother of his children, his best friend and confidant. He felt a pang of regret claim him, once again realizing the finality of her passing, that he would never see her again ... for 'never' was a long time and to never see her again redefined the idea of … forever._

 _He slipped his ring toward his knuckle, twirl, twirl, tempting fate, sparring with his destiny now._

 _Brokenhearted, he imagined her gorgeous mind, body and spirit entombed in a traditional cotton shroud made of a clean and bright sailcloth. He exhaled, collecting himself, as he envisioned small cannons placed at her feet to anchor and guide her down to her final resting place … her committal to the ocean. Wherein the sound of that committal haunted him now, for it was always the same – swift and absolute – much like discharge of the firing squad before the recital of the benediction._

 _And therein, Tom held his breath and slowly slipped his wedding band from his finger, closing his right fist around it – feeling the weight of the tiny, meaningful relic – memories of their wedding day, playing out in his mind: the beautiful, sheepish grin on Darien's face when she set it upon his finger … 'in sickness and health … until death do us part', she had recited … and in Baltimore, she had fulfilled her last promise._

 _Swallowed whole by the vacuum of the moment, his heart heavy with love and adoration … and regret (for he would always carry a measure of regret) – Tom braced himself against the window sill and stared up to the lonely moon – finding solace there for a long, lost beat of time. His wedding band nestled in his palm, his heart trumpeting to his ears, his muscle banging around against this chest._

 _Panic rose again but he let it consume him this time, for never in his life had he felt this alone or empty. Closing his eyes, he committed these feelings to his memory now. For in order to move forward, to live in the here and now, he knew he needed to own these feelings – to own this tragic event of his personal history – so that he could find those ways in which to honor Darien … to keep her spirit within his heart and the hearts of their children._

 _Reluctantly, he stepped away from the light of the moon and crossed the room to the dresser, where he pulled a small box from within. More tears popped free now and he let them be, opening the box, he found Darien's wedding band, saved for him by his father. Gathering his senses, he ceremonially set his ring inside the box with hers._

"Oh … my sweet girl, how I loved you so … this isn't goodbye … it won't be, I promise …," he entered his plea, his voice, low and broken.

His words hung in the chilly air, searching for a place to reside within his memory and heart _._ Collecting himself, Tom closed the box and set it back into place. Exhaling, he turned around and surveyed the empty room. He rubbed his wet, tired eyes. Alone and slightly afraid of what he'd just done, he stepped out of his room and headed for the kids' room where he slipped inside and took a seat on the armchair in the corner – _the ever-present moonlight_ – casting long shadows upon his children as they slept.

Ashley with her arms wrapped around her pillow and Sam on his back, arms akimbo … both sleeping … trusting. His eyes trained on them for a beat longer before they dipped shut and the velvety darkness of sleep enveloped him too.

And as he finally relaxed, Tom listened to his children breathing: _slow and deliberate, peaceful and tranquil._ Reflexively he matched his own tempo to theirs and suddenly everything seemed to fall into place. He felt for his left finger – _bare and smooth_ – and breathed through the small wave of bereavement. For he knew he wouldn't always feel this bereft, but for now, he felt more at peace knowing that their rings – _the delicate symbols of their union_ – would remain together … safe and sound for eternity.

 ** _To be continued …_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 4**

Tom stared at himself through the mirror in front of him, the crude hotel lighting revealing to him that he looked exactly as he felt: _exhausted, uneasy and frayed around the edges._ For not even a clean shave had done anything to sharpen his appearance. Tilting his head, he pondered the idea that it could be street clothing ( _in general_ ) wherein he silently reconsidered the relaxed button down shirt he'd just slipped on.

Sighing with resignation, he turned away from the mirror and looked to the large windows on the far side of the room where he watched the last of the sunrise – _the twinkle of the nighttime lights of the city disappearing now_ – finally putting an end to a long, sleepless night. His right fingers found his naked left finger where he tested his resolve. He exhaled, his skin sensitive to the touch, he felt slightly imbalanced … _'give it time,'_ he coached himself.

Absentmindedly, he cuffed the sleeves of the shirt to his forearms and exited the confines of his room. He picked his key card up and slipped out of the suite, closing the door quietly behind him before he walked down the long hallway en route to the business center that had been transformed into a temporary command center for the President while more concrete plans were in play for making an official set of offices in the historical landmark, Old Courthouse.

At this point, the Nathan James CIC was still their primary source for surveillance and satellite imagery – _but to Comm. O. Mason and Lieutenants Granderson and Foster's credit_ – the operations had been relatively seamless in getting the information to both the hotel and subsequently to the hospital. Sighing with a degree of satisfaction, Tom nodded to the ensigns on duty and entered the space for the early morning debrief, the space smelled of coffee and baked goods.

"Tom, good morning," greeted Michener, a broad, _'Presidential'_ smile etched along his face as he stood up from the conference table. "How is Dr. Scott? Resting comfortably?" he asked sincerely with a small tilt of his head. The men shook hands.

"She's well … so far, so good," Tom answered with a small reflective smile of his own.

Douglas, their morning hotel staff person smiled and set a mug of hot black coffee down on the table. "Thank you, Douglas," Tom smiled.

"A pleasure, Sir," the young man answered with a nod. "I did manage to find an assortment of green tea for you per your request. I've set it on the credenza. I can prepare some if you would prefer," he smiled, pointing to several boxes of tea along with a small electric kettle.

Tom pressed his lips into a thin smile. "Great news _– you know, thank you for remembering_ – I'd forgotten all about it," he exhaled, his mind wild now. "It's not for me, actually … do you think we can pack it up … along with the kettle, if possible?" he asked, his heart racing slightly as he thought about Rachel.

"Sure thing," Douglas answered. "I can do that," he smiled with a nod. "Anything specific for breakfast, Sir?" he prompted then.

"I'll pass this morning, thank you," Tom replied, having not yet found his appetite.

"No problem," he replied. "I'll take my leave if you have everything you need, gentlemen," Douglas said then, having set up a Continental style breakfast for the team.

"That would be fine, Douglas," replied Michener with an easy smile.

XO Slattery and CMC Jeter stepped into the space then, both dressed in the standard blue camos. "Gentlemen," Tom smiled broadly, his comrades in arms always a sight for weary eyes.

"Good morning, Captain … Mr. President," XO Slattery greeted with a firm nod. Both men smiled widely. "Out of the woods, how about that?" he asserted directly to Tom now, a satisfied smile reaching his weathered eyes.

"She's something else …," Tom nodded in assent, fixing his eyes on Mike's, a small smile forming on his face now.

"Wonders never cease, Sir," added Jeter, setting his hand upon Tom's shoulder where he applied gentle pressure, his all-seeing eyes glassy with emotion.

"No they don't," Tom agreed, Rachel's state of consciousness yet again becoming more of a reality to him as the clock moved on … _'she was okay'_.

 _###_

"Last on our list for now would be some surveillance we've gotten from CIC that there may be a cluster of residential properties available in an area called Lafayette Square, which is the city's oldest park," Slattery reported. He looked up from his notes.

"What do we know?" Tom asked, for settling locally in St. Louis ( _outside of the hotel_ ) while the James was in dry dock had been the plan.

"From what we can tell, there are about seven to ten small townhome style dwellings located along the square," he reported. "They're known to be empty, abandoned – _but from what we can tell_ – were part of an urban renewal effort that had been thriving when the virus broke out here," he explained.

"So you think they're in rather good structural shape?" Michener asked then.

"Yes Sir, we believe they are," Jeter confirmed with a tight smile.

"And how far is Lafayette Square from here … and the coast?" Tom asked, formulating a plan now.

"About three miles west," Mike answered. "I was thinking … we could send a convoy out, small land tac-team just to confirm and scale the area to see if it meets our safety requirements," he added.

Tom sighed, his mind now on the team _and_ his family, for both had to be considered. "Three miles out might be further than I'd like at the moment, but … down the road – _in another four or so weeks_ – that might be all right," he exhaled, effectively giving the green light.

"I'll plan to send Lieutenant Green out with Cruz and Miller this morning then," Mike stated then. "Burk and Wolf are heading up some weapon's training exercises presently, so we'll circle back for a debrief later and then if it seems a viable lead, we'll do a full work up with both teams," he reported with a firm nod.

 _###_

 _Not quite an hour later, Tom quietly entered the suite, setting the box Douglas had prepared on the side table along with some much appreciated fresh fruit and some small boxes of cereal for the kids. He sighed and sat down on the sofa and rested his head back, the morning sun casting short shadows along the sanctuary walls wherein he got lost for a beat, quite taken by the dust particulates as they danced and floated in the sunlight._

 _He brought his wrist up and glanced at his watch, it was just after seven. He exhaled and resisted the urge to check in with Rose. For it was Bertrise's morning at the hospital and she would arrive there within the hour, just as she had on every third morning since they had devised their rotation schedule. And this worked well for Tom, for once his father and children arrived – he had enjoyed these slower mornings with them – whereas previously he worked with Michener or ventured down the the James, working round-the-clock (mostly out of avoidance and to keep himself from going mad)._

His father entered the suite from his quarters then and smiled tightly at his son. "How was the debrief?" he asked as he had most mornings when Tom attended the debrief, rather than being patched in from the hospital. He sat down next to Tom.

"Good – _touch and go with virus outbreaks and anti-government rhetoric of course_ – but all plans are in play," he reported evenly. "We're taxed, the Comms Team could use some R-and-R, but that's nothing new," he sighed. "And … we may have a lead on some residential space, a neighborhood about three miles west of here," he pressed on.

"Well that's something, I assume you'll have land teams do some surveillance?" Jed asked, nodding his head.

Tom pressed his lips into a smile, for the soldier deep within his father was always there somewhere. "That's the plan for now, we'll know more within the next couple of days," he nodded.

"And Bertrise is with Rachel this morning as scheduled?" Jed asked, tilting his head, watching Tom carefully.

Tom smiled, reassuring his father with a firm nod. "Yes, Sir … I presume, as scheduled, you're headed to grab some coffee with Tex?" he prompted then, effectively changing the subject.

"That's the plan," Jed chuckled, standing up. Tom joined him. "Kathleen will be up when you're ready to head out," he added, a smile reaching his eyes now. "She's something else, Tommy, what an incredible young lady," he sighed, doting on Tex's daughter as if she was his own.

"Yes she is," Tom agreed – _because she really was_ – a fighter, a survivor just like her father.

Jed slipped his key card into his pocket and opened the door. "Enjoy your morning with the kiddos, Tommy," he smiled. "It's real great to spend time together again," he added thoughtfully.

"Couldn't agree more," Tom sighed, looking toward their bedroom door. "Let Tex know I'll be in touch later today when I know more about a second tac-team for that residential area," he smiled tightly.

"Will do, Son," Jed replied before he quietly closed the door.

 _###_

 _A short while later, Tom sat with the kids in the main suite, Ashely flush against his side on the sofa. She was reading a worn copy of C.S. Lewis' "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe", while Sammy sat closer to the television, his rapt attention directed to what he termed to be "the best 'Phineas and Ferb' episode ever". For the kindness of the judge's daughter did not end with the loaning of a dress to Rachel, she had been very generous in bringing both book and DVD sets over to the hotel for the children upon their arrival last week._

Sam cackled now, his hearty chuckle hanging in the air. Tom smiled and Ashely looked up from her book, a tiny smile on her face now too. "This is the best part," she whispered conspiratorially to Tom.

He chuckled and met her gaze. "They talk too fast," he smirked.

Sammy turned around. "You'll get used to it," he smiled widely.

Tom began playfully, "So … is the platypus a pet or–"

"Perry is technically the pet platypus of the Flynn-Fletcher family," Sammy informed him then, his tone rather serious. "But he only _seems_ domesticated," he went on.

"Right …," Tom smiled. He winked.

Ashley closed her book. "Dad, Perry is the best part of the show, well … so is Candace, because she's the sister," she related with a sassy smile.

" _I heard that!"_ Sammy interjected without turning around.

Ashley cackled. "Anyway, Dad … Perry is cool," she smiled. "He lives a secret double life as a member of an all-animal espionage organization!" she reported enthusiastically.

"That's a mouthful," Tom answered with a wry grin.

"Well, he _is_ an anthropomorphic platypus, so anything's possible," Ashley pointed out, her more serious eyes dancing now as she showcased her intellectual prowess.

"I can see that," Tom chuckled at her antics.

 _The episode ended and barreled straight into the next, the frenetic, fast-paced introduction and song, the soundtrack for the moment as Tom sighed on his blessings and relished comfortably inside this time with his children … a true gift._

 _Ashley's giggle floated through the air._

 _Sammy made a face at her._

 _And Tom doted._

 _For he knew these fleeting moments of joy were not possible for a great many people and therein, he silently thanked the Gods for this opportunity, for this cherished time. For had he not been the Captain of the Nathan James – had he not been hand-picked by the US Navy to see this mission though – he may not have had the mixed blessing of_ _ **this**_ _chance,_ _ **this**_ _moment in the here and now … far away from his home … and even farther away from the idyllic life he used to live._

 _But he was here nonetheless, he had survived and his children and father were saved by one unexpected, courageous woman and an equally courageous crew … and that had to mean something. And so with all of that to consider, Tom Chandler sat here, enjoying a quiet morning with his children, perched upon another blessing: the precipice of a new beginning._

" _Daddy? Are you okay?"_ came Sammy's sing-song voice.

Pulled from his reverie, Tom found his son's eyes. "Yeah, Buddy, I'm all right," he answered with a grin. Sam's smile reached his eyes before he turned his attention back to the television.

"Are you thinking about Dr. Scott again?" Ashely prompted hesitantly; she jackknifed her knee and turned toward him.

"Hmm, not entirely," Tom answered candidly with a reflective smile. "I was really thinking about how lucky we are … to have moments like these together …," he articulated carefully.

"When a lot of people don't …," Ashley added, her breathing hitched. "Dr. Scott did that for us …," she declared suddenly then, her dark eyes so intense Tom almost looked away.

He smiled instead. "You know I told her once, she was going to save us all …," he breathed, a barrage of memories hitting him all at once.

"And you were right," Ashley sighed with a small smile. "And see … now she was hurt and you were there for her – _and you wouldn't have been_ – if it wasn't for her in the first place," she reasoned, wise beyond her years. "You're friends …," she smiled.

"We are …," Tom smiled wistfully, because they were – _before anything else_ – they were the truest of friends now.

"So … maybe in the end, you just saved each other …," Ashley declared simply, her words slow and deliberate.

 _There were times in life when Tom's children dismayed him so, when he noticed growth or compassion or maturity, and this was certainly one of those._

"You know, that's what she said, that we would all save each other," he whispered, setting left his hand over hers.

Ashley looked down and then looked up quickly, quite mystified. She tilted her head and regarded him. "You took it off …," she whispered without judgment.

Tom looked down at his hand and squeezed hers. "I did …," he exhaled, frantically searching her young eyes for unease, though nothing materialized. "I put mine in a box with Mom's … right where it should be …," he whispered, holding the last of his breath – _a fissure splintered his heart_ – he breathed through the pain.

"That sounds nice, Dad … Mom would have liked that, she would be happy now that we're all together again …," Ashely replied softly… and Tom knew, in his heart of hearts, she was right.

 _Father and daughter reached for one another then, instantly warmed by their special brand of energy – a blanket of safety that compared to no other – and therein they truly relaxed and let go of another layer of stress and trauma, their losses becoming one in the same. Aligned. Heartfelt. Shared. They shed no tears – only small pieces of themselves – and inside that tiny, precious moment, they connected on a new level of understanding and closeness … the result of their perilous journeys, both together and apart from one another._

 _###_

The sun was high in the sky when Tom arrived at the hospital carrying his wares from Douglas under his arm. He exhaled heavily, realizing now that his heart was alighted with the knowledge that Rachel would be awake, versus the omnipresent burden and sadness that had encapsulated him during his visits up until forty-eight hours ago. He moved through the security checkpoints, the armed guards nodding in assent as he did. The elevator chimed and he stepped off, turning to head down the familiar hallway where he spotted Bertrise and Rose as he approached the main desk.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he greeted with a broad smile. He set the box down on the counter.

"Captain," Bertrise smiled. "Hello," she said demurely, her liquid black eyes always the same: _deep and reflective_.

"Tom," Rose sighed, a smile reaching her eyes. "How are you?" she asked of him, silently giving him the once-over.

"I'm just fine, how's our patient?" he asked, his eyes moving between the two trusted women.

"Wonderful," Bertrise beamed with obvious relief.

"She's well," Rose added. "A bit tuckered though, she fell asleep a little bit ago on Bertrise," she informed him.

"Did she sleep well last night?" he wondered, his chest tightened – _'Where is he?'_ – came Rachel's call along with the tormented look upon her face. He grimaced.

"She slept just fine and before you ask me – _yes, it's perfectly normal for her to sleep this much_ – coming out of a coma is no small feat," Rose counseled wisely. "And let me add that tomorrow – _she will have a harder day_ – even more time spent out of bed … so I'm happy to see her sleeping now," she went on.

"Yes, Ma'am," Tom smirked. "You're the boss," he admired.

"I am," she agreed, her all-knowing gaze fixed on his.

Bertrise smiled then. "Maybe it was that dry book she was reading about Alexander the Great, it could put anyone to sleep," she suggested simply.

Rose's chuckle filled the corridor, followed by Tom's. "Likely culprit … I'll have to let Lieutenant Green know to lighten up on his choice of reading material," he smiled.

"Oh … Lieutenant Green isn't reading that one, Sir," Bertrise replied, her eyes dancing now. "That volume belongs to Lieutenant Foster," she revealed.

"Is that so?" Tom smirked.

"Yes, Sir … she's been studying great warrior strategists," Bertrise explained.

"Hmm … always working, that one," he sighed conspiratorially.

"Says the man who takes the term _'multi-tasking'_ to a whole new level," Rose interjected playfully then.

"Oh … and you should talk," Tom countered and rolled his eyes.

 _###_

Tom quietly closed the door behind him. Before taking another step, he glanced at Rachel, allowing the energy of her sanctuary to consume him. Her long hair was in a relaxed braid. Pausing still, he noticed how the fragmented sunlight cascaded down upon her sleeping form and much to his relief, that the color had returned to her angular cheeks. His fears truly put to rest now that he studied her, for although she was asleep – _he could tell she was awake_ – and the melancholy void that had encapsulated her whilst she was comatose was indeed gone.

 _She was at peace – resting, rehabilitating, maybe even dreaming, happily – he exhaled with relief._

Turning away from her now, he set the box down on the side table next to some floral arrangements, mostly potted mums, all delivered from the hotel – _notes of encouragement attached from Michener, Garnett and Burk_ – plus a platter of scones from Bacon; he smiled widely. His crew adored this woman, a force of her own making. And it was here that Tom Chandler almost lost it, once again – _trying to accept the facts_ – that the worst was over and she had survived.

Sitting down at the desk, Tom cleared his head momentarily by reviewing the initial satellite and street images of Lafayette Square, all of which looked promising and much like a tranquil neighborhood one might see in a film depicting small town life. He noticed the brownstones were attached and lined the street on both sides, flush against the park. The trees were mature and statuesque and though an older neighborhood, Tom imagined at one point, there was character there. He certainly liked the idea of creating a residential settlement for his crew, especially his inner circle, now that Michener had decided to make a play for rebuilding the U.S. government from St. Louis.

He sent an encrypted message to Slattery that mirrored Jeter's initial appraisal: _press on and forward with a second tac-team for longer term surveillance._ Sighing, he moved on and reviewed the latest status report from Comm. O. Mason on virus stability and new outbreaks along with a report tracking the success of the contagious cure from Milowsky, which if Tom were a betting man, Rachel would demand to see within the next twenty-four hours or sooner. For convalescence would not suit her for long. He glanced at her again, privately admiring her tenacity, his face falling slightly when he thought about her tireless need to prove herself.

And as his mind wandered, he thought about their stalemate over Neils and how she stopped at nothing to test her contagious cure. He swallowed hard, once again back inside the wardroom when she told him she had injected herself with it to test it. He cringed, still unable to process how careless she was that day: _his disbelief, an unexpected arrow to his heart, that she injected herself with a byproduct of Neils' filth, was truly enough to make him sick._ Unresolved emotion percolated to his surface now and he once again thought about their many silent truces … one in particular.

 _###_

 _Tom was situated on the bridge with Michener as they made their way down the Mississippi River, he remembered feeling on edge about everything falling into place – but as naval captain's do, he followed his gut – and admittedly his gut instincts and those of his crew had gotten them this far, so all they had to do now was follow the mission through to the end._

 _Slattery and Jeter arrived on the bridge following the debrief of the lieutenants on the details of the operation, which included the capture of Ramsey himself along with the framework of the contagious cure and how it was to be administered._

" _Sir … the entire crew will be inoculated with the booster within the the hour, all facets of the mission remain the same," Slattery reported._

" _Good work … now, let's just hope there will be enough people at the port to make a difference," Tom asserted._

" _It's a good plan, Captain … a sound plan," Michener nodded in assent._

" _Mr. President … stating the obvious here, you don't need a booster," asserted Slattery then. "But Captain … I'm headed down to the lab directly if you would like to join me," he added, making a sidelong glance at Jeter._

" _I am going as well, Sir … perhaps in solidarity, we should go together?" Jeter intuited evenly._

 _Tom smiled at his comrades veiled attempts at smoothing things over between him and Rachel – for it was no secret that the outcome of Neils' death at her hand – was a sore point, one that he'd carefully avoided doing anything more about. And in light of their circumstances: the war with the Ramsey's and subsequent loss of Walker, Lynn, Bivas and Chung, who could have blamed him. Though now – he presumed the crew had made some assumptions that he would take some action and expunge her punishment – after all, she just saved his life (again) and was about to become a savior to the free world (again)._

 _Bristled, he reluctantly agreed to accompany them, knowing their presence may indeed lighten the mood. Walking with purpose, they headed down from the bridge to the lab wherein all he could think about was the first time she'd vaccinated him after the trials and how triumphant they both felt. He remembered saying – "You did it," – and watching her shy away from the intensity of his focus. He also remembered he couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to – for even back then – she had captivated him with her tenacity, bravery and fighting spirit._

 _Of course, he could admit all of that now in hindsight._

 _But perhaps back then, he wouldn't have felt it – the draw, their connection – or more appropriately, wouldn't have_ _ **allowed**_ _himself to realize what was there, especially when everything swiftly fell apart thereafter (Baltimore, Darien), wherein his own spirit had been tamped down, diminished by the tragedy of it all._

 _And so as they rounded the last corner of the p-way, he thought about this time –_ _ **this**_ _inoculation,_ _ **this**_ _great scientific feat (certainly deserving of an 'enthusiastic embrace') – and how it was no less of a triumph … except that the celebration of it all was greatly restrained by the erosion of their working relationship and the means by which the cure was achieved._

 _And he didn't like it. And he knew she didn't either._

 _For Tom knew Rachel looked to prove herself to him time and time again, though he never discerned why. He also was well aware that by injecting herself with the contagious cure before she knew the mouse's fate, she was, without words, categorically screaming at him to hear her point of view. Having reached the lab, Tom nodded to the ensign on duty outside the door, sighed and stepped first into the lab, closely followed by Slattery and Jeter._

 _Rachel looked up from her laptop and stood. "Captain … gentlemen," she greeted, her serious eyes vacillating._

" _Dr. Scott," Tom replied evenly, surreptitiously checking on her as he'd grown used to._

" _Is now a good time for your boosters?" she asked of them, walking around her small desk._

" _Yes," Slattery answered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "We understand you're done with the crew," he added with a curt nod._

" _Yes, all two hundred-four," Rachel confirmed with a smart smile. "Dr. Milowsky and Bertrise will be down directly, I just heard from them," she exhaled uneasily. "I am happy to report that_ _ **every**_ _sailor on this vessel was happy to trust me,_ _ **and**_ _this healing booster …," she asserted evenly, pushing the envelope when it came to Tom's stubbornness._

 _Tom held his tongue. Both Slattery and Jeter raised their brows at him. He watched a smile etch across Rachel's serious face, touché._

 _Dr. Milowsky entered the lab then. "Gentlemen, your timing is impeccable," he smiled._

" _Well, timing can mean everything in our line of work," Slattery answered with a grin._

" _Yes, well, no time like the present – Dr. Milowsky, why don't you do the honors – I have some last minute adjustments I must make to my epidemiology models," she asserted more formally, silently rebuffing Tom._

 _Tom exhaled and attempted to hold her frozen gaze, but it was no use … he'd lost her._

 _Dr. Milowsky seamlessly followed her lead. "Well, this won't take but a minute," he smiled. "Right this way," he added, heading to the far side of the lab._

 _Following the doctor's lead now, the three men unbuttoned their camo shirts while Milowsky turned away to ready the boosters. He turned back to them after a moment and smiled, three vials set upon a medical tray._

 _Jeter smiled and stepped forward, but Tom cleared his throat, thinking now that some kind of grand gesture was in order. For he knew he had to somehow impress upon Rachel that even though he would stand by his decision in a court of law, he still trusted her with his life (and he truly hoped she still trusted him with hers). All three men were waiting on him. He looked over his shoulder to Rachel before he lifted one of the vials from the tray._

" _So this is it?" he pondered, scrutinizing the vial at eye level. "This is what he amounted to?" he asked Milowsky, his voice, monotone, foreign to his own ears._

" _Yes, Captain," Milowsky answered, his eyes searching._

 _Tom held the vial between his fingers. He took a deep breath … Neils, what a bastard. He fumed. So many lives lost. So much tumult, uneasiness … ugliness, the man certainly destroyed anything and everything in his path … until he met Rachel._

" _You proceed here," Tom ordered then, picking up an antiseptic wipe._

 _He glanced at Mike and Russ quickly before he turned on his heel and headed back to Rachel. He came to stand in front of her desk, vial in hand … his olive branch for the moment._

" _Captain?" she looked up, her dark, hopeful eyes searching his._

" _Rachel …," he muttered, his heart trumpeted into his eardrums. "Please …," he said thickly, quickly regaining his composure. He set the vial on her desk._

 _Holding his gaze, she stood and walked back around her desk and without saying a word, she opened the antiseptic wipe and brushed it over his deltoid. With a small satisfied smile and an immense sense of_ _déjà vu – Tom watched with interest while she uncapped the vial and stepped closer to him – her more peaceful aura apparent now as she held his arm in place and applied gentle pressure, administering the booster with all the compassion and caring he knew was vested deep within her._

 _Pressing her lips together, Rachel swiftly replaced the needle with the wipe and without thinking, Tom covered her hand with his – where they lingered within this odd 'dance' of sorts for several lost beats in time – glassy eyes fixed on one another, trust restored, if only for the moment … pieces of their protective veneers falling away now until it was just the two of them … and it was a beautiful thing._

 _###_

The door was pushed a couple of inches open and the bustle of the hospital broke his spell. Tom looked to Rachel; she was still resting, though her head was turned away from his view now. The door slowly opened and Rose peered inside.

"I'm taking a break, what can I bring you from the café?" she asked of him then.

"I'm all right, thank you," Tom replied with a smile matching hers.

She stepped inside the room and let the door close. "Tom, remember when you asked me to remind you when you're being stubborn or a detriment to yourself?" she asserted, her smiling eyes betraying her.

"I do …," he smirked.

"You have to eat, Tom …," she impressed upon him then, stepping closer. "The next few days will be the roughest for Rachel, physically … and she'll need you in top form," she rationalized. Tom smiled and admired Rose. "How about some soup? You can have some with Rachel for dinner," she went on, her hazel eyes dancing now.

"That would be fine," Tom agreed without argument. "Thank you, Rose … for thinking of everything," he said sincerely.

"A pleasure," she smiled and exited the room.

 _Tom rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and fell back into the silence of the sanctuary again – Rose was of course correct – and as he pondered her assertion, he realized he hadn't eaten since Rachel came to. For perhaps sustenance was similar to the idea of sleep, it just evaded him. Sighing with resignation, he turned back to Rachel and was surprised to find her awake and watching him._

"Hi," he smiled, alighted by her more peaceful rouse.

"Hello," she replied softly with a smile, pressing the button, the head of her bed began to rise. Tom stood and crossed the room. She pressed a button and the side railing dropped. She shifted uncomfortably, wincing slightly as she moved. She exhaled and set her hand upon the extra space. "Here … sit," she said softly, peeking at him through her lashes, she took his right hand in hers and he watched her cheeks blush pink … _alive and well._ He sat down on the side of the bed – _his left foot on the floor, right knee bent_ – she pressed her palm against his. "So … you're forgetting to eat?" she asked without judgment.

Tom smiled. "I had no idea," he chuckled, tilting his head. His heart fluttered – _palm to palm_ – he looked at their hands and boldly laced his fingers through hers … _'she was okay'_.

"Great warriors don't forget to eat," she said playfully, glancing at the book on her bedside table: _'The Wars of Alexander the Great: 336-323 BC'_ _._ "I've been reading up on people like you," she smirked.

 _"_ Is that so?" he wondered, quite captivated now.

"It is so …," she confirmed. "They actually relished in ceremonial meals," she sighed wistfully. "Very similar to your _Missing Man Table_ , though they feasted more to celebrate the surviving warriors than to honor the fallen … I like your way better," she exhaled, her serious eyes somehow softer around the edges now.

The pair sighed in tandem then, both surely thinking about the loss of the final four sailors of their mission and everything that went along with their deaths: _the Ramsey's, the dogfight on the oil rig, the even bigger fight with the sub … all still so fresh._ A residual prick struck him along his scar tissue, he breathed through it.

"Me too …," he agreed then. "You know, you're right … about the Navy and sailors and ancient ceremonies though," he corroborated.

 _Swallowing hard, Tom took a deep, cleansing breath and silently delved into his private 'burial at sea' for Darien._ _ **Darien**_ _. Gone forever but not forgotten. He stood and felt uneasy on his feet, Rachel's hand still nestled within his.  
_

 _"Tom?"_ she prompted, her eyes wide when he finally looked down and found her again.

"I'm all right," he promised … _because he really was._ "I also remember you like them too … ceremonies …," he went on wistfully with a small smile. "Something about special occasions and green tea when it comes to certain scientific breakthroughs?" he prompted evenly.

Rachel smiled up at him, her pretty lips pressed into a thin line, her faceted eyes fixed on his. Letting go of her hand, Tom crossed the room and fetched the box. He set it down on the bedside table and reached inside and pulled the boxes of green tea from within.

"I'm sure these won't come close to your _Camellia sinensis_ –"

"You remembered …," she whispered, her voice catching; she smiled at his gesture.

"I did …," he answered, his voice low. He set the boxes down and returned to his spot on the bed. "And it got me thinking about enthusiastic embraces too …," he said carefully, holding her gaze.

"Oh …," Rachel sighed, leaning back and into her pillows.

"Hmm, mmm … and tea ceremonies and … contagious cures," he rambled on, looking away from her for a beat, his eyes landing on the potted mums and notes of encouragement, he sighed.

" _Tom …,"_ came her melodic voice, she set her hand on his.

He turned back to her. "A few days ago – _before you woke up_ – I had been searching for … I don't know … meaning … answers …," he breathed, his voice cracked. "I regret that I let your latest accomplishment go uncelebrated …," he confessed then.

"I share the same regret," Rachel intimated, leaning closer.

"I know you do …," he smiled. "And I guess – _in the interest of hoping for second chances_ – I asked the attendant at the hotel to find some green tea …," he explained. "So maybe when you woke up … we could have some … together …," he breathed.

Looking away again, Tom truly lost sight of himself now wherein all he suddenly felt was Rachel's calming aura as she tugged on his hand and pulled him closer, healing him now without even trying. He found the solace of her eyes again.

"Thank you, for not giving up on me," she whispered urgently into the small space between them. "You … …," she husked, her eyes inches from his now, her beautiful face contorted with restraint now.

 _Tom took a staggering breath. Somewhere far away he heard her name fall from his lips – 'Rachel' – his simple plea lingering heavily in the heated air between them. He sighed into their shared space, the depths of her eyes on display now as if only for him: gorgeous, endless, sparkling._

"The more I wake up … the more I realize how well you know me," she exhaled, a tiny tear popping free of its own volition now. She wiped it away with haste. "Honestly Tom sometimes it's like looking into a mirror," she confessed hurriedly, as if the moment would somehow pass them by.

Tom held her gaze. "Please tell me more about the dream you woke up from …," he asked of her then, also seizing the moment.

"You said you would wait for me to be ready …," she whispered her reply. She shook her head and slipped her hands into his, looking down and then back up, her eyes wide for a beat.

 _Tom squeezed her hands in reassurance, for he realized she noticed he wasn't wearing his wedding band. He exhaled and stared at her while she stared at him – a moment of silence observed between them now – her fingertips caressing his for the first time … soothing, caring, healing. He sighed and smiled inside the cherished moment, a dull ache settling alongside his heart too … and he loved it._

"You heard me?" he prompted after a long moment, thinking about all of the truths he relayed to her the night she woke up and was falling asleep again.

"I did, all of it …," she replied, her eyes fluttering to recede her tears. She pressed on. "The truth is … I'm hedging because I'm not sure you're ready to hear it, Tom …," she explained softly. "And … I don't want to add pressure … it seems too soon, after _everything_ …," she uncharacteristically rambled.

Tom smiled weakly. "Except I think now is the time … _our_ time … especially after _everything_ …," he persisted, his voice low, stoic – _believing every word_ – for what other signals did they need?

Rachel turned away and Tom watched her eyes dance over the bookcase. Another curtain of tears fell and he wanted to reach for her, but Rachel only held his hands tighter.

"It was only a dream …," she whispered, holding her breath. "There will be others …," she reasoned soberly, still looking away … _he was losing her._

"Not like this one," he navigated carefully. "I want to know about **this** dream," he exhaled. "Rachel…," he beseeched her.

She turned to face him, stunning him for a beat with her beauty. "I think knowing where my head was will shock you … it was a shock to me and it was **my** dream …," she said candidly, her eyes glassy now.

Tom sighed. "You weren't there – _on my side of things when you woke up_ – you were inconsolable," he exhaled. "And wherever you were – _on an island with me_ – wherever **we** were … you definitely wanted to go back …," he impressed upon her to see his side – _'Where is he? Where is he?'_ – came the desperate haunt of her call again.

"Fantastic, now my dream is haunting you too," she smirked, blinking her tears into recession.

He smiled weakly. "Rachel … … **who** is _'he'_?" he wondered aloud.

 _And there inside that moment, Tom's question hung in the silence between them – 'Who is he?' – he finally managed to ask, watching now as Rachel slowly fell apart while simultaneously erecting her barriers to entry, closing herself off. Shaking her head, she silently rebuffed him – negating his need to know more – but Tom only clung to his resolve, slipped his right hand free and ran his thumb under each of her eyes. He smiled weakly._

"Talk to me …," he whispered in earnest.

Leaning into his touch, Rachel's breathing hitched, pleading silently with him for a beat before she answered resolutely. "No, not yet – _it's too much_ – you must trust me –"

"I do trust you," Tom insisted, curtailing her rationale.

"It would be a burden–"

"No. Now there you're wrong!" he insisted, his heart thumping as he leaned forward, setting his right hand along the angular plane of her cheek. "Don't you see?" he asked of her, his eyes searching hers, he dropped his hand. "A burden is … you're gone forever!" he whispered urgently, entreating upon her. "But … **this** … **you** waking up … this … is a **gift**!" he argued, his eyes wild now.

Rachel stared at him. Her waiting tears fell. "What happened to you?" she exhaled, bewildered.

"You …," he answered simply, his intense eyes trained on hers. His heartbeat, erratic. "You happened to me, Rachel …," he intimated. "And this thing between us …," he hailed softly, candidly.

 _She shook her head – 'no' – but all he could think was: 'Yes you.' He nodded in assent._

"Life is short … and unpredictable … even more so now," he reasoned then. "And I'm healing … after _everything_ , I'm just trying to work through it all …," he sighed heavily.

"I know you are," she encouraged with a small smile.

"And my broader point is, I'm still here – **_We're. Still. Here._** – and that has to mean something …," he sighed, his father's sentiments coming full circle now.

"We are … it does …," she confirmed, her gorgeous eyes searching his.

"So … if you're mourning the loss of your dream – _maybe I can share that burden_ – if you'll just tell me … _what_ we're mourning …," he navigated carefully.

 _And it was here that Rachel finally froze. She shook her head desperately and Tom watched as she lost the last of her resolve, her watery gateways firmly fastened to his where he could plainly see her panic ensue all over again – 'Where is he? Where is he?' – she opened her mouth to speak but nothing emerged. Her lips quivered and without thinking he moved to sit next to her – draping his arm along her shoulders – careful of her injuries. Rachel eased into his offering where he instinctively attempted to escheat her fears. His dire wish to protect her somehow as he breathed in tandem with her – allowing her to set their rhythm – his chin pressed to her crown, her ear over his heart while she silently repaired herself._

" _By telling you … it would make it all the more real, don't you see?"_ came her soft voice after a long moment.

"And you don't want it to be real?" he prompted softly without judgment.

"Quite the contrary," she intimated, peering up to him, the storm in her eyes receding for now. "I just don't want to share it … not yet …," she sighed. "But I do … believe me when I tell you, Tom – _I want it to be real_ – there is no truer statement than that …," she asserted now, her faceted eyes pinned to his.

"Really?" he smiled down at her, drawing her closer.

"Yes … this dream was … euphoric … …," she intimated, her cheeks pink again, her eyes full of beauty and wonder.

"Hmm … worthy of chasing …," he exhaled, quite inspired by her.

"Absolutely …," she replied with a small reflective smile.

"And attainable?" he asked pragmatically with a smirk.

"I believe so … of course there's human error to account for…," she smiled. "Yours and mine," she sassed playfully.

"Spoken like a true scientist," he muttered, eliciting a laugh from her.

"Or a warrior," she sighed, to which Tom laughed out loud.

 _And so there they sat perched upon this new echelon together, thousands of miles away from where they first met – warrior and scientist, scientist and warrior – each easing into the idea of healing and sharing their collective burdens, which can be a hard business for two people like them: tenacious, empathetic, proactive, problem-solving, time-keeping, world-saving … and now … dream-chasing._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 5**

 _Alone and back in her room, the full extent of the morning's activities and realizations finally caught up with Rachel. Haunting her still … 'You're fearless, remember?' came Tom's voice, low, deep … intimate._

She fought back tears and closed her eyes, easing her sore shoulder into the cushions of the armchair, for the thought of getting back into that bed again made her cringe … she was already so tired of being tired. Frustrated, she exhaled and focused on her nerve-endings – _feeling them snap_ – fraying around the edges already and she hadn't done anything physical yet. _What happened to her stamina? She felt like the sick, the infirmed and it grated on her nerves._ Though after another battery of follow-up tests and several meetings with her team of doctors to formulate a plan for her long-term physical therapy needs, she was starting to realize how taxing her recovery might prove to be … and truth be told, that unnerved her even more.

She huffed and opened her eyes, glancing at the washroom door in the opposite corner of the room. She thought to get up on her own and make it there herself this time, but instead she lingered and looked to the small table at her side, noticing the forms Rose left for her with the less taxing assignment of making some more _'choices'_ for lunch from the liquid diet menu she would adhere to until tomorrow morning. Thereafter she was informed that she would graduate to solids from a prescribed list of simple foods, though truth be told – _she'd developed a rather perfunctory diet from subsisting on the Nathan James_ – despite Bacon's stellar efforts to feed her at every turn. She sighed wistfully and looked to the platter of scones he'd baked for her: _she would enjoy one tomorrow; first thing._

And tomorrow was tomorrow, but for today there actually _was_ a light at the end of this strenuous, insightful and emotionally draining tunnel ( _scones aside_ ) and in this case that light was Tex. For not only would she see her friend and cohort again soon, but he was also transporting her work files with him. Another smile formed on her face now.

For after some deliberation with her doctors ( _several of them_ ), Tom had graciously acquiesced that light work ( _consisting of reading and writing_ ), would not only quell Rachel's anxious feelings about the status of the virus at large, but would certainly assist in exercising her brain. And much to her delight – _in keeping with that understanding (subsequent emotional outpourings aside)_ – Tom also agreed that Dr. Milowsky would give her a status update on viral outbreaks and the tracking models for the contagious cure when he would arrive tomorrow at his scheduled shift.

And so presently Rachel did as her nerve-endings requested, she rested and waited for Tex. Closing her eyes – _she hunkered down against the cool recycled air, disappearing into a blanket draped around her shoulders, a warm hand resting on her abdomen_ – her thoughts turning to Tom and the nuances of their emotive conversation earlier in the morning before he departed to meet with Mike on the Nathan James and then Michener back at the hotel-headquarters.

 _###_

 _Rachel had been wrangling with her emotions as the passages of one of Dr. Julian Hunter's white papers on malaria became a blurred, nondescript mess before her eyes again._

 _In an effort to stop herself from spiraling she looked up and watched Tom for a lost beat in time … wishing … hoping to be spared from her own desires to truly delve into the loss of her beloved Dr. Hunter. Absentmindedly though, she bypassed all that transpired between she and Tom since she woke up (dreams, truths, reciprocations) and instead lingered on the cloud of uncertainty that positioned itself over them following Neils' death at her hand. And there inside that maelstrom again, she was directed right back to Dr. Hunter. And so as it seemed nothing she could do would stop her mind from tackling this much needed reflection … she acquiesced._

 _As such, memories of this celebrated man flooded her mind in earnest: from the first time she met him (in complete awe) to her copious studies with him as his research fellow to her stunned happiness at finding him again after Baltimore. Cringing inside, she forced herself once more to accept his grim and unfathomable death and the way in which it derailed her … darkening her heart and spirit enough that it pushed her to give Sorensen a taste of his own medicine (quite literally)._

 _Of course, she knew killing Neils was wrong, admittedly – she was wrong, she had no right – but he took_ ** _so_** _much from_ ** _so_** _many (billions) … and she justifiably only needed small fragments of him to undo just a fraction of what he'd done._

 _A justified, mercy killing (was there any such thing, no) … but an eye for an eye? Perhaps._

 _For he didn't witness his destruction the way she had, from the very beginning … after he'd weaponized the virus. He missed all of that having been holed up with Ruskov. And by the time he extricated himself from the Russians, his power was simply a catalyst for his ruthlessness … his true nature._

 _And so, Rachel had resigned herself to believe: what was done was done. And after everything she had seen and done_ ** _because_** _of Neils Sorensen's narcissistic, thoughtless actions … she couldn't have lived with herself if she let the spark of inspiration for the contagious cure pass her by._

 _No, it had to be done. She had no choice but to see it through. And it was here, at this juncture, that she digressed and put that bastard out of her mind, for now._

 _Closing the bound book, she looked upon Tom again, her smile lingering as she noticed he sat a little taller today as he had donned his Navy camouflage uniform. She could also tell he was still bristling over his hesitant agreement that she be permitted to work. She sighed inside at his protectiveness, for somewhere in the vast recesses of his mind – Rachel knew he felt guilty about the shooting (certainly displaced) – but who was she to judge or measure guilt – who was she to say, 'don't feel like that' – who was_ ** _she_** _at all anymore? For she had her own guilt to consider._

 _Her dream … …_

… _her great escape …_

… _with her beloved version of Tom._

 _Her figment of a baby …_

… _of a life_ ** _so_** _beautiful …_

… _that she dared herself to dream it …_

… … _for_ ** _them_** _._

 _Tears pricked her eyes; her heart rate accelerated. And now she felt like off-kilter … waking up only to be confronted with just how deep her feelings for Tom Chandler really were. And that petrified her, just a little bit._

 _Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes in an effort to ground herself once more. She shifted her weight and forced herself to keep those deep feelings at bay, for even though Tom was convincing in his argument that he was ready to hear about her dreamscape, for some reason – Rachel wasn't ready to share it – to allow it to collide with her reality._

 _She simply wasn't ready for_ ** _him_** _to be ready – or for him to_ ** _want_** _her – because if she were an honest woman, she would admit that she felt wretched for wanting him (when he wasn't hers to want), even if that desire was only ever manifested in a dream._

 _Except that now, as she sat here and watched him – she_ ** _wanted_** _him (and the dream), her heart pinched low, deep – and therein she more than_ ** _craved_** _his proximity, his touch and the liquid blue of his eyes akin to an ancient elixir … a panacea for everything she was ever missing._

" _Tom …," she heard herself whisper his name into the quiet. He looked up from his work and smiled. "Thank you," she declared softly._

 _He stood and crossed the room. "For what?" he wondered, moving the extra chair closer to hers. He glanced down at the research volume. He smiled, his lips pressed into a thin knowing line, his eyes softening around the edges._

" _For being here with me … and for agreeing on that light work load," she rambled softly … apologetically._

 _Tom smiled and shook his head. "First … you know I'm here, because I want to be …," he replied, leaning closer, he held his hand out to her, palm up. Rachel set her palm against his and pushed back. "And second … I understand your wanting to work … to get caught up, I just wish it wasn't out of some need to prove something to me … or to Michener," he exhaled, searching her eyes._

" _You've said that to me before …," she answered, thinking of Cruz dying before her eyes that day on the beach at Guantanamo, and Danny's relief later when he pulled through. She held Tom's gaze._

" _Because I believe it's true," he countered, sighing heavily. "You can be reckless to a fault … you're fearless …," he deemed, pressing his lips together. He smiled weakly, admiring her._

" _Being useful sometimes comes with a price …," she argued, shifting slightly, her shoulder radiated; she moved through the pain._

" _Is that why you gave yourself up to Ruskov? To feel useful?" he wondered, his keen eyes sparring now._

" _Yes, it certainly was … and it was worth it," she breathed, holding herself steady, her heart beating into her eardrums. "You were worth it," she brazenly admitted; her cheeks turned pink._

" _So I've been told," he chuckled with a wry grin and shook his head. "You know … when we met … I had a crew adhering to my every order … S-O-P, very calculated, very by the book …," he prattled; she watched a storm brew in his eyes. "And I don't think I have to tell you how bemused I was by you and the way you pushed back –"_

" _You know I had no choice in the Arctic," she defended herself. "Plus, you know by now, I'm just built that way … I'm not Navy," she smirked._

 _Tom chortled. "I do know … and I know … you," he sighed, lacing his fingers through hers._

 _Her heart stilled. "And I, you," she answered candidly, squeezing his hand in response._

" _I also know, when it comes to your work … to proving your worth you can be a downright detriment to yourself, Rachel …," he breathed, leaning closer. "And sometimes – I think it's a distraction – the way you use your work as an excuse … I've seen it …," he rambled on, his voice, low, reflective ... his eyes a shade darker with concern now._

 _She looked down at their hands and marveled at their perfect fit. "You're right …," she conceded; her heart heavy, her thoughts landed on her parents. "I've been that way since I was a girl … I hate feeling … ineffective, as if my hands are tied …," she offered resolutely; her mother's passing haunting her now._

" _I have no doubt …," Tom sighed, a small whimsical smile etching along his handsome face._

" _What?" Rachel wondered, holding his gaze and she decided then: he was gorgeous when his smile reached his eyes._

" _Just imagining the girl you once were," he replied softly, the storm in his eyes receding for now._

" _Feisty. Serious. Tenacious," she stated then. Tom raised his brow. "Just some of the adjectives used to describe me," she elaborated with a smile. "And of course your favorite: stubborn," she winked._

 _Tom snorted. "Stubbornness aside … why not just focus on getting better?" he asked quickly, his fingertips dancing along hers now._

" _Because for how ever long I'm in here … …," she whispered, deep feelings of helplessness encroaching upon her now. "I just want to know … I want an update. I gave this virus everything I had!" she said a bit more fervently than intended. "It's not as if I'm planning to build a lab in here!" she exclaimed, pointing to the office area. Tom sighed. "Three weeks is a long time in today's world …," she muttered, losing herself for a beat._

" _I know you did … and it is a long time …," he breathed, following her gaze._

" _I know, you know …," Rachel redirected, squeezing his hand, he turned to face her again, his eyes glassy, vacillating with uncertainty now: she'd hit a nerve._

 _Everything was quiet for a moment then as he turned away from her, his eyes pinned to the corner where she followed his gaze once, their eyes dancing over the office area now … books, monitors, reports, plants, notes … scones … where she wondered what it must have been like for him … and therein, she gave him some space._

" _Three weeks, Rachel …," he huffed, turning back to her now. He shook his head; fat tears filled his eyes, he blinked them into recession. "Three weeks … can put a lifetime into perspective …," he deemed, his voice cracking wide open now. "It can do that – being in here, with you – did that for me …," he went on; craning his neck back._

 _He exhaled, his eyes pinned to the ceiling for a beat longer and everything was quiet for several long moments, each lost within their own measures of time and what it meant to lose and win some: an hour too late to save Darien … a warning call missed, Dr. Hunter was murdered … a split-second of viral contact for Frankie … too far to the left for Cossetti … too close for comfort for Ravit and Chung … and three weeks of waiting for her to wake up … a lifetime for Tom._

 _Rachel sighed and set her free hand against her pulse point at her neck, it fluttered under her lithe touch before she moved her hand over to her heart where the muscle pushed against her palm. "Tom …," she breathed his name; her heart went nuts._

" _Hmm …?" he exhaled and turned back to her so swiftly that he stunned her for a beat._

 _Evidence of his vulnerability on full display now, the intensity of his stare so reflective – his eyes so blue, honest and faceted that she lost herself in an instant inside the hidden gem of a sanctuary she found there once in her dreams._

 _She was entranced. The sense of déjà vu so overwhelming now that she took a staggering deep breath and reflexively moved to her hand to her abdomen where it stayed. The warmth of her palm against her belly soothing the dull ache that had somehow lodged itself there … in the name of her dream baby._

 _Tom tilted his head and regarded her … and then she saw it: a flicker of a reckoning … a dawning of sorts as it set along his handsome face. An awareness that Rachel instantly feared, for so scared was she of judgment that her instinct was to avoid it … to recoil. Because … again … who was she? A woman who dreamt about a man in mourning?_

 _Her friend. Her confidant. Her partner._

 _A man she would never want to compromise in any aspect of his life and yet, she also knew – she wanted to live out that dream with him – and the baby … so real, so tangible, so significant … it was as if she truly gave birth to him. And then lost him. And therein she felt bereft and small and insignificant in ways she never thought possible. For it turned out that she too, was in mourning._

 _Her nerves were shot. Her heart ached with sorrow. The loss of the dream, palpable. Panic claimed her once more._

 _And it was here that Rachel realized with certainty that she needed her work more than ever to instill her peace of mind … she desperately needed a factory reset. She wanted to get back to her reality. And therein she blinked her waiting tears away and tried to explain herself._

" _I just need this, Tom …," she pleaded with him now. "The ways in which time marches on aside – my work defines who I am – without it, I'm … … lost …," she admitted, swallowing hard. "I … I just have to_ ** _do_** _something, besides focusing on the aches and pains …," she whispered, searching his eyes for understanding._

" _You keep saying you don't need pain meds," Tom countered, eyeing her carefully; his eyes darting down to her hand along her belly; residual heat radiated._

" _I don't …," she sighed; her heart pulsed rapidly. "Not for this kind of ache …," she husked, her lips quivered – 'Where is he?' – she heard her call, farther away now, more tears threatened to fall and she hastily looked away from his scrutiny._

 _But then for whatever reason … a reason she may never come to know – perhaps a hunch, or intuition – Tom reached for her and set his left hand, still void of his wedding band, next to hers along her abdomen. The weight of his palm like nothing she'd ever felt before … significant … innate … kismet. And it was there inside that moment, that Rachel's heart finally gave out and she felt as though she might melt right out of her skin._

 _Tom stared at her still, his gaze unwavering, without judgment. "I've sometimes wondered how this mission changed you," he intuited then, his eyes as glassy as a still lake now. "The things you've seen … and done … … and watched_ ** _me_** _do," he exhaled, leaning forward. "But this vulnerability …_ ** _you_** _, like_ ** _this_** _– it changed your mindset, your outlook – and who you are … more than this mission ever did …," he articulated carefully. "_ ** _This_** _… …," he whispered, suggestively laying his palm flat; her empty womb inherently soothed by his touch. "This … is about your dream again, isn't it?" he whispered his assertion, his fingertips dancing over her hand now._

 _Tears welled in Rachel's eyes; she tried to stifle a desperate gasp for air. She could barely breathe. She nodded in assent. "Yes …," she husked. "I feel powerless against it …," she confessed urgently. "And anxious about what I remember … about what I must want, however gorgeous it all was … … I do feel afraid to want it, Tom … … my heart's desires …," she breathed, searching his eyes for answers._

" _Hmm … you want the dream … …," Tom intimated, his eyes dancing with hers now. She sighed inside and nodded in assent. "Don't be afraid of it, Rachel … … you're fearless, remember?" he whispered with a small smile._

 _###_

There was a knock at the door and then it opened slightly. Rachel's heart fell, her thoughts a jumbled mess, pulled from her reverie, Tom's voice still lingering – _'You're fearless.'_ – his baritone both deep and honest.

" _You still awake, Doc?"_ came Tex's recognizable drawl from the hallway.

"I am," she smiled broadly.

 _And then the door swung open and he was there, walking toward her – his eyes shone bright and happy – her friend … her ally … everyone's man, Tex. He leaned down and gave her a gentle hug – he smelled of soap and sea – and all at once she was overcome with emotion, holding on to him now, she let her tears go and fall free … for if there was one person on the Nathan James she knew always had her back, her best interest at heart, it was this man. He was a stellar friend and even better human being and much like he did for her, she held a soft spot for him._

"There she is," he hushed into her ear. "I knew you'd find your way back," he admired her, pulling back slightly, his own eyes glassy with emotion. "I knew it all along," he encouraged … _and she believed him._

 _###_

Tex sauntered from the tiny washroom behind her holding the electric kettle. They had been visiting for about an hour or so, catching up on everything relevant ( _and plenty that wasn't_ ) and she swore, even though it had been only three weeks, it was as if a lifetime had passed her by.

Sighing, she watched him plug the kettle back in before he turned to her – _his eyes so bright and clear now that she estimated he looked about ten years younger_ – having had his hair trimmed, tightened up and pulled into a low pony tail. He looked great. Happy. Centered. At peace. And she was glad for him and his dear, sweet Kathleen who had, at long last, found her father.

"You said this was the best one?" he asked of her, holding up the box of honey-ginseng green tea.

"That's the one … the one and only," she laughed from her seat at the office table, trying her best to relax her shoulder – _though she knew before the day was over_ – she'd break down and ask for some Motrin.

But for now, she was happily distracted, watching Tex drop a tea bag into each mug before he came to set the piping hot beverages down. He took his seat and smiled.

"You really do look great, you know," he marveled, his eyes sparkling against the fluorescent lights. "A coma never looked so good on a person," he cackled like the devil eliciting a laugh from her. "Even better now that you're awake …," he added more soberly then.

Rachel smiled along with him and picked her mug up, the hot porcelain felt nice against her chilled fingers. "Well, I start physical therapy soon, so it's likely you'll change your tune when you see me next," she sassed with a wry grin.

"C'mon, Doc, you'll be all right … you're still one tough broad," he deemed, pressing his lips together as he held his mug up and brought it to hers. "To … waking up!" he declared cheerfully.

"Here, here!" Rachel smiled too and took a sip. "Thank you, again … for waiting for me … for visiting with me," she sighed then, shifting uncomfortably against the back of the chair.

"We're family," he answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Rachel nodded. "We are …," she agreed with a reflective smile.

 _They fell into an all-encompassing, comfortable silence then wherein Rachel surveyed her friend, seeing he truly was no worse for the wear and hoping – now that he was reunited with Kathleen – he would stay in St. Louis and rebuild his life alongside many of their 'shipmates', for the truth was, she couldn't imagine him not being within a certain proximity, for this was what living on the Nathan James had done to her._

"I have been wondering something …," she said into the quiet then.

"You always are," he deadpanned, winking at her.

Rachel snickered. "I can't help that I'm such a curious person," she defended light-heartedly.

"And if I was a praying kind of person, I'd thank the Gods for your brand of curiosity," he declared with a firm nod. "It saved us all …," he breathed, his eyes suddenly glassy.

Rachel sighed, "I'll always say we all saved each other."

"In most ways, there's no truer statement," he agreed. He took another sip of his tea. "So … you were wondering …," he prompted with a grin, screwing up his mouth.

"Yes … I was curious what _you've_ been reading to me," she smiled sheepishly, glancing at the bookcase.

"Oh, I haven't been reading to you!" he cackled, sitting up taller, he craned his neck and glanced at the bookcase. "No, no, no ma'am – _you had enough people reading to you_ – for crying out loud, Foster and Green have been doin' the bate -n- switch between babies and ancient warriors!" he guffawed; Rachel laughed. "And Miller's been quizzin' Wolf on the U.S. Naval Code … I got out of that one!" he prattled off, a smile plastered to her face now. "Nope … no reading from me … I did sing to ya' though, mostly James Taylor – _oh and sometimes I asked you for help with crossword puzzles_ – just for shits and giggles, you know? On the off chance you'd wake up and shout an answer at me!" he exclaimed gleefully.

Rachel laughed at his antics; tiny tears of happiness pricked her eyes. "I think I missed you, Tex," she said, suddenly overcome with emotion.

Leaning forward he whispered, "I missed you too, Doc."

 _###_

"So what if there's a notation about the primordial strain **and** the Egyptian strain? Does that go in it's own pile?" Tex wondered, his head bent down over a stack of papers.

"No … here … I'll take that," Rachel answered with a laugh as Tex rolled his eyes at her.

"You keep that up and they'll be a single piece of paper in each pile!" he snorted at her.

"No there won't be, this is only the first round of organizing," she answered with smirk and then she waited.

Tex glanced up from his stack. "It all makes sense now … why virology and I never clicked!" he exclaimed. "I'm too satisfied within the chaos," he muttered, laughing at his lame joke.

 _Rachel smiled and sat back in her chair, surveying the organized chaos that surrounded them: lab results, tests, evidence, all of her papers – the trial and error of this bastard of a virus was all here – in this room with them, thousands and thousands of miles away from where it first migrated. She privately marveled at their collective journey._

And then she smiled and thought it was high time she drove Tex crazy. "You know … science is a rather chaotic method …," she ventured now.

"Ah, that explains this mess," he chuckled, setting another document in a sorted pile. He looked up. "Just kidding, I **know** it's from the sub battle with the Ramsey's," he smiled.

Rachel snorted. "As I was **saying** …," she said, emphasizing each syllable. "Most of the time, to scientists working a mystery – _nothing really makes sense_ – until that miracle of a breakthrough occurs and everything becomes … gorgeously chaotic **and** attainable –"

"A scientist's dream come true…," Tex sighed wistfully with dramatic flair. Rachel froze. His face fell. "You all right?" he asked.

 _Her heart raced and her mouth was dry, key words flitted through her mind akin to the shutter of a camera lens –_ ** _Miracle. Breakthrough. Attainable. Dream_** _– and therein everything fell into place … everything about her dream and the chaos it was born from … and its attainability in the here and now._

"Yes …," she smiled, collecting herself. "I'm just fine," she sighed … _because she really was._

"Was it something I said?" Tex asked of her; he set his stack of papers down.

"No … just thinking about dreams coming true," she added thoughtfully.

Tex smiled. "You had a vivid dream on the James once, just outside Nicaragua … remember that?" he asked of her then.

Rachel's heart stilled. She shivered in response, even now. "Of course I remember … it was a troublesome dream about the Captain and the mission for monkeys … gone awry … very wrong …," she exhaled, recalling the foreboding dream that provoked her into a frenzy of intense anxiety – _for Tom was nowhere to be found_ – he'd just disappeared, into thin air … and then she woke up; terrified.

Tex sighed. "It really has been one hell of a ride … feels like a lifetime ago, that you had that dream and woke with all those monkeys to test …," he said thoughtfully, regarding her now. "And … the rest is history …," he smiled and shook his head with wonder.

"That it does … so much has happened, so much of life is so different now …," Rachel sighed, turning back to her pile of papers.

 _Her mind reeling now, still rather dismayed that their mission on the James had ended and that she woke up here – from another dream – only this time, with a chance to make it come true. And with that thought in mind, she smiled._

 _###_

Afternoon gave way into evening and presently, Rachel stood with Rose just inside the small washroom on the cusp of taking her first shower – _now that restrictions of her head injury were lifted_ – no further signs of head trauma had been evident since she woke up almost four full days now. Four days … also felt like a lifetime.

"Now, don't worry about your stitches or your wounds, we'll take a look at those later, just for good measure," Rose instructed.

Rachel sighed uncomfortably. "I think I can manage," she said, her eyes moving along the standard hospital shower: _green tiled walls, a bench, a bar for support, shampoo, body soap._

Rose's hazel eyes found hers. "You won't always feel like this, you know," she offered sincerely.

Rachel smiled. "You sound like Tom," she whispered, tears threatening to fall, though she had no idea why.

Rose chuckled. "Maybe I'm wearing off on him after all," she smiled. "He's something else," she added thoughtfully.

"That he is," Rachel smiled wistfully. "Do you think he's all right?" she asked hesitantly then.

"Oh … well, he's certainly much better now that you're awake and recovering," the experienced nurse deemed honestly, without betraying Tom.

"I admire you, Rose," Rachel declared then. "You've been amazing through all of this … to him … and to me," she added with a smile.

"I would normally say it's my job, but … in your case, it's been a pleasure," Rose sighed, setting her hand upon Rachel's wounded shoulder. She smiled. "Now … if you need me for anything – _if you feel light-headed or just need help at all_ – just pull on this cord here …," she instructed, showing her the pull cord inside the shower.

Rachel nodded in assent. "And what of my wound dressings?" she asked practically.

"The dressing is water proof, so just shower as you normally would … in a few day's time your stitches will be removed, regardless," she encouraged with a smile. "Your range of motion is still very limited so don't be alarmed, just … take it slow, but don't stay in too long …," she instructed lightly.

Rachel smiled tightly, "Understood, thank you." And with that, Rose smiled and left the small space and closed the door.

 _###_

 _Undressing now, Rachel untied the drawstring of her hospital issue pants and let them fall to her feet. Holding on to the sink, she gingerly stepped out of the pants. Next she untied the front ties of her top and let it fall from her shoulders and followed that protocol for the loose-fitting tank top she'd been wearing. Naked and unable to look at her wounded body, she purposely averted her eyes from the vanity mirror in front of her and moved carefully to turn the shower on._

 _Stepping into the shower, Rachel worked as quickly as her body would tolerate, doing a perfunctory job on her hair and body at best. Her skin sensitive to the touch, she worked around the wound and the surrounding tissue; bruised, yellow. Her muscles screamed at her while she worked, nerve-endings snapping in tandem with them as she quickly became fatigued. Holding the bar, she tilted her head back and into the hot water, her core muscles tightening now in an effort to keep her from falling._

 _Gripping the bar, she steadied herself again and silently cursed the monster who'd done this to her, images of those moments with him in the hallway haunting her now: his evil, blank stare, the barrel of his gun, his shaky hand and her inability to move … once again immobilized by the fear he instilled within her._

"Damn it," she gasped, stumbling forward, she sat on the bench.

 _Tears of frustration clouded her vision now and she became powerless against her mounting anxieties – her heart and lungs on fire – she struggled to breathe, in, out, her chest heaved. The humid air suffocating her … the echo of her gasps and resonating panic taunting her inside the small chamber now._

 _She looked up and focused on the cord, willing herself to stand and reach for it – 'pull it' – she rationally coached herself … except that as she stood there naked, the water turning cooler now, she thought she would be damned if this bastard was going to take her dignity too! For crying out loud, she was Dr. Rachel Scott! The scientist in history who stopped at nothing to create a cure for the most egregious virus to ever grace the planet ... and the woman who put the most hated man in the world to his death (by her own hand)! No, this bastard was not going to beat her._

"No!" was all she could demand of herself.

And with that she pushed the shower off and grabbed for a towel. She stepped from the warm tiled floor onto the cool, dry one, the cold air waking her up as she came to face her reflection in the mirror she had avoided just moments ago.

Patting her blotchy skin dry, she cracked the door open to release the humid air and sat down on the chair in the corner and eyed the clothing she'd pulled out from the supply Bertrise had brought for her yesterday. Gingerly, she slipped her panties on, her skin still damp, proving to make the task all the more difficult. Next, she eyed the yoga pants she'd chosen and with no other choice ( _besides the horrible hospital issue pants_ ), she did her best and wrangled her way into them.

With her left hand, she did her best to wring her hair out with the towel – _closing her eyes in the process_ – she thought of what Rose said, that she wouldn't always feel like this. In the distance, she heard the door to her room swing open … footsteps, heavy … a muffled baritone: _it was Tom._ She smiled reflexively.

" _We're all on the same page,"_ she heard him say after another moment. _"Michener is satisfied … we've got Granderson and Valerie working on that system now, should be up and running by tomorrow first light,"_ he went on.

His voice, somehow the soundtrack for the moment, as it floated in and out of her space. His tone, low, confident and smooth and oddly domestic, considering she was half-naked in the next room while he seemed to pace around and converse about saving the rest of the free world … the cornerstone of their relationship. She sighed.

Standing up again, she approached the vanity mirror, the wet towel still draped along her shoulders, she let it slip free and stared at herself for a good long while. Unruly tears fell from her eyes and she did nothing to stop them. The lighting was terrible, which did nothing for her physique – _her skin was pallid, opaque, her healthy glow, gone too_ – the wound dressing barely concealing the damage the bullet had done to her tiny frame. Her rib cage shone through her skin and her breasts were smaller and therein she sadly realized how much weight and muscle mass she'd given up.

Leaning closer, she scrutinized her wound, the entry point of the bullet in particular. Her heart lurched, bile rose and she felt queasy. She took a deep breath and focused on her face, her tone sallow, her eyes fatigued with dark circles beneath them. Sighing inside, she traced her left pointer finger along her cauterized, stitched flesh beneath the dressing – _her bruised tissue, sensitive_ – she was violated, broken … a battered woman.

Of course she'd seen photos in her file, but nothing compared to the real thing – _the doctor in her wanted to pull the dressing aside and take a closer look_ – though the victim and survivor in her would prevail today, she knew that now as fat tears welled in her eyes and the mirror image of herself became an even bigger mess in front of her. Wiping her tears away with haste, she stared at her face for a half a beat longer before she reached for her clean tank top.

 _Without thinking, she put tank around her neck and pulled her left arm through, but quickly realized she could not get her injured shoulder to maneuver enough to slip the tank on all the way as she normally would. Hastily, she tried to remove it all together, but her skin was damp and stretchy fabric clung to her – and therein she was effectively stuck – her right elbow wedged in a tangled mess of fabric, her scar tissue exposed through the dressing now. Desperation overcame her and she tried again in earnest to pull the material aside to make room for her arm, but it was no use … she was stuck._

"Oh enough!" she shrieked, her frustration mounting now.

Then footsteps followed by silence. " _Rachel …,"_ came Tom's voice from beyond the door.

She stilled herself, her labored breathing the only sound she could hear. "I'm okay …," she replied after a minute.

" _Are you all right? Do you need a nurse?"_ he asked of her.

"No." she answered decisively. She heaved a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. And then, "I'm … maybe … I don't know, I'm stuck –"

" _Are you decent?"_ he persisted.

 _She looked at herself in the mirror again: No … there was nothing decent about what that monster did to her! Nothing. Hot tears formed now and she was overcome by them. Closing her eyes, she braced herself against the edge of the sink and took a couple of cleansing deep breaths, regulating her heartbeat, in, out, in, out._

" _Rachel?"_ Tom tried again, his voice stern, more adamant now.

"No … I'm not … _decent_ … and I don't need a nurse," she exhaled sharply.

" _Can I help you?"_ he asked of her then. Rachel stared at herself still. She was a mess. The silence swallowed her whole. She flicked the latest round of her tears from her cheeks with her free hand. _"Rachel … answer me … may I come in?"_ he asked.

Sighing, she tried to find the horrific humor in the scenario and reluctantly answered. "Yes …," she sighed. And with that Tom opened the door and stepped inside the small room, his intense eyes, softening. "I hate this damsel in distress crap," she asserted, pressing her lips together now.

Tom smiled, "You are … a mess."

More tears flooded her eyes and she nodded in assent. "I am," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Rachel …," he exhaled, his breathing stacked as he checked her over.

 _She shied away from him – turning slightly to spare herself the embarrassment – the underside of her right breast exposed, along with the ugliness of what had been done to her._

"I'm …," she sighed, trying to breathe, she caught his solemn eyes through the mirror.

"Hey …," he appealed to her, tilting his head; he reached for her. "It's all right … I've seen you – I mean **them**!" he blurted out. "Your **scars**!" he defined quickly, trying to save himself, his face red.

Rachel sighed. "I don't mind, Tom," she stated evenly, sparing him then.

"When the nurses would change your dressing …," he explained evenly. "Sometimes … I would be working; they would check your vitals … it was all very clinical … I'm –"

"Listen … I'm pragmatic – _there's no time for modesty here_ – and honestly … there's nothing sexy or gorgeous about this …," she muttered dryly.

Tom stepped closer to her, he held her gaze through the mirror still. He pressed his lips into a thin line and smiled. Then shook his head. "Not true," he stated simply, his eyes: _blue, clear, honest_. "Can I help you?" he asked of her then. She nodded slowly in assent. "Did you want this off or on?" he asked hesitantly.

Rachel's inhaled sharply. "On," she whispered, turning around, she stood toe to toe with him now, looking up she found his eyes.

 _And with that, Tom took the fabric in his hands and stretched the arm hole to a slightly bigger size before he snaked his hand under the tank, skillfully avoiding her breasts, and gently pushed her elbow up and through the hole. Rachel heaved a sigh of relief. The garment was a warped mess. Her heart pounded as she peered up at him, noticing for the first time now that he'd changed his clothing, the blue collar of his shirt accentuating his eyes even more within the intensity of the moment. He smelled of soap and shaving cream._

"Thank you," she said softly then, turning around to face the mirror again.

"Welcome," he answered stepping closer behind her. He exhaled sharply, his handsome face riddled with emotion now. Raising his hands, he adjusted the stretched neckline of the tank top, his lithe fingertips dancing over her dressing, front and back – _he shook his head_ _and she let him be, her nude silhouette visible through the flimsy fabric_ – but she paid no mind to any of it and closed her eyes for a lost beat in time, leaning into his innate heat while he held her steady. _"You_ ** _are_** _fearless …,"_ came his reminder then, low and deep then. _"And gorgeous … my scarred beauty,"_ he muttered, his thick baritone lost in some distant, beautiful place _._

Rachel's eyes popped open and her heart responded, raising her pulse. "What was that you said?" she mumbled, staring at him now. "What did you call me?" she whispered, quite mystified.

"Gorgeous …," he replied simply.

She shook her head. "After that … scarred beauty …," she whispered, her throat dry. "In my dream you said that to me …," she sighed, her heart pounding now.

Tom stared at her. "I have said that to you … here … yes …," he confirmed, drawing her near. "Once or twice, when we were alone," he went on, a reflective smile on his face now. "Unbelievable …," he husked.

"Amazing …," Rachel sighed and blinked her tears into recession. She exhaled, stress ebbing slightly now. Tom smiled and picked her hairbrush up and raised his brow. She smiled. "If you don't mind …," she answered his unasked question.

 _And with that Tom began to brush her long tresses, his careful hands working through the knots she'd created from her shower and wrestling match with the tank top. And while he brushed, Rachel wondered: was this really happening? Quickly making some headway, Tom slowed his tempo and capped her good shoulder with his left hand. Rachel glanced at his hand and the way he held her in place and therein she thought to ask him about his wedding band._

"Your ring …," she whispered into the silence. "You're really not wearing it …," she probed gently.

Tom exhaled and nodded his head in assent, his keen eyes pinned to hers. He stopped brushing and she turned around to face him. "I promised myself some closure if … **when** … you woke up …," he sighed, holding her gaze … unwavering.

Rachel inhaled sharply. "You had a lot riding on my waking up …," she declared then.

"I can admit that …," he answered, taking her hand in his.

"I'm glad I woke up then," she declared brazenly, stepping closer.

"Me too," he answered, gently pulling her into the envelope of his arms.

 _Where they embraced for the first time, Rachel standing on her own two feet and Tom holding her steady. Her eyes fixed on their reflection in the mirror now – Tom's eyes closed, his chin pressed to the halo of her head – his arms wrapped around her back … his touch, soothing, calming. Her ear pressed over his heart as she listened to his machine and everything that made him tick. She closed her eyes too and swayed in his arms now to a rhythm of their own making, safe and sound, tucked away inside the sanctuary they created for one another._

 _###_

The Motrin Rose gave her worked swiftly, and without recourse Rachel was asleep within minutes – _her muscles relaxing as she sank inside the familiarity of her favorite oversized sweater –_ her last memory, Tom as he worked, having informed her that he had some things to do before he headed back to the hotel and that she should rest easy and he would see her tomorrow, unless she need him before then. And that was it – _then he was gone_ – having disappeared into the liquid darkness deep within her mind's eye.

 _###_

 _And it was from that darkened interior, that Rachel eventually emerged into the evening sunlight and stepped out and onto a familiar plane, one she knew well: the craggy overlook to an island paradise. The salty ocean breeze barreling up the cliff, mixed with the pungent essence of island flowers, a trigger scent of her childhood. She stopped and centralized her thoughts on her mother and father._

 _His bible. Her rosary beads. And therein she let her more innocent and peaceful memories of them float up and out to the horizon. Her mother's healthy face. Her father's embodiment of serenity. And then … just like that, they were gone too … but not forgotten … tradition living on now as she sat perched upon the craggy where her mother used to sit and watch over her._

 _Smiling now, Rachel looked down and found them with ease – those dark, familiar silhouettes against the bright sky – Sam and Ashely, chasing the waves back out to sea … their utter joy and free spirits a sight to behold … their health and happiness; radiant and true. And then her heart stilled as Tom appeared along the coastline. His back to her, his silhouette, his telltale broad shoulders … his recognizable stride, confident and strong as he walked along the beach … where they were reunited, father and children._

 _As if she expected him to, Tom turned around and waved to her high upon her perch – a babe nestled and asleep in his arms – he gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Sighing happily, Rachel sat down and rested her chin on her knees and looked to the beach below, the sun setting along the horizon far, far away wherein her eyes swept the peaceful landscape – the tops of the palm trees, the crescent shape of the coastline, the booming echo of the waves as they crashed along the shore, the sherbet colored sky – all of it committed to memory._

 _Unchanged by civilization._

 _Uninhabited by the masses._

 _Gorgeous. Peaceful. Wholesome. Protected._

 _And exactly how she recalled it to be: Flora Island._

 _###_

And just like that, Rachel woke up with a start. Her gasp hung in the silence of her hospital room. Her hand flew to her belly where it stayed. Tom was on her in an instant – _desperately searching her eyes for signs of duress_ – his own face reminiscent of the other night: _panic stricken, anxious._

"You okay?" he asked urgently searching her eyes, his hands cupping her face.

"I'm all right," she asserted into their shared space. He smoothed away her wild tresses. "Everything's all right," she whispered. "Flora Island …," she breathed suddenly, setting her hand upon his forearm where she added pressure. "That's where we were … I'm sure of it now," she deemed breathlessly.

Relief flooded Tom's handsome face. "You're all right," he deemed, moving sit on the edge of the bed. He exhaled. "So … the island … you've been there?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes … with my parents when I was a girl …," she sighed breathlessly. "It's real … and it was – _at least when I was a girl_ – a splendid, dreamlike place …," she smiled … _for it really was a magical place, home to her most cherished childhood memories … and now, so much more._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Thank you to those readers leaving anonymous or guest reviews, your readership means a lot to me.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 6**

 _Rachel stood at the windowsill of her room and looked out and along the horizon. She set her palms along the cold glass and sighed, almost longingly. The rain pelted down against the window and she eased into the comforting, hushed sounds of the storm raging just outside. The tall trees swayed in the wind and she lost herself in their taciturn dance for a long, private moment._

 _She had always loved storms, for it was her belief that they were a sign of change or a reminder that human beings just happened inhabit the earth, but in reality, they were powerless against the outside influences abound in the broader atmosphere … the universe at large. She sighed and closed her eyes and let her thoughts twirl aimlessly about._

Rain. Wind. Uncertainty. Viruses. Circumstances. Isolation. Fate. Destiny. Tom. Saviors. Missionaries. Guns. Subs. Immunes. Torpedoes. Dreams. Manifestations. Realities.

Thunder clapped in the distance and broke her spell; her eyes popped open. Sighing heavily, she turned slightly and glanced at the computer monitor to her left with the idea of sitting down once more to review the latest epidemiological models for the contagious cure sent over by Kara and Milowsky via the CIC. After her initial review, she was pleased with the results. Very pleased. But now she was restless … impatient with her desire to delve deeper into the results and move on and evolve this experiment to the next great phase of final containment of the virus.

 _Yes … 'restless' was the word of the day. Frustrated also came to mind. So did angry. And listless, idle … and tormented. She sighed again; her heart trumpeting now … because there was also thankful … and relieved and humbled … and dreams and Tom … and circumstances and fate._

There was also exhausted.

She eyed her bed – _feeling dizzy for a moment_ – where she steadied herself briefly, longing to rest for a bit, though simultaneously admonishing herself for the idea. Crossing the room instead, she stopped at the foot of her bed where she slipped her chart from the holder before she gingerly sat down on the armchair, shifting slightly, she used a pillow to prop the reading material up.

Opening the file, she settled further into her oversized sweater and mulled over the results of her x-rays from this morning: her injuries were healing as they should, and even though she was frustrated by the pain and limited range of motion, her orthopedic doctor quickly reminded her of just how much healing her body was able to do on its own while she was in a comatose state – _'a mixed blessing'_ – was how he termed it. And he was quite certain that those three weeks of mandated R-and-R would come to mean more to her as she moved forward with her recovery.

And she supposed he was correct. Her stitches would be removed tomorrow and the term _'discharge'_ finally came up in conversation with her doctors. Rachel smiled reflexively now … yearning for fresh air and a change of scenery more than anything. And while her physical therapy was limited to hand and wrist exercises for the next week or so, she could already feel a slight return of her strength whilst performing mundane tasks ( _predominantly with her left hand_ ): brushing her teeth for example, or holding her iPad at a good angle for reading. Tasks she never would have considered trying or inconvenient until now.

And on the brighter side, she **was** working again. And while she absolutely ached to get back on her feet and into a lab, she had to admit, things were working quite well from the confines of this room. So far over the last day and a half, she and Dr. Milowsky had met once face-to-face and then spoken on the phone several times throughout the day yesterday. And it was true enough, she was pleased with his work and with the outcome of the contagious cure as it continued to be spread virally at an exponential rate without weakening.

She sighed with satisfaction now, feeling validated that her actions had proven to mean something and that Neils truly had become useful in his death. And therein, unruly emotion funneled to her surface again, as it did from time to time, when she ruminated about what she'd done to him with her healing hands.

 _A curtain of tears formed and Rachel let them be. Her head felt heavy all of a sudden and the x-ray images became distorted as she attempted to focus on them and regain her senses. She took several cleansing deep breaths in rapid succession, but it was no use. She swallowed hard, trying to stave off the unpleasant queasiness that had ravished her so swiftly … but she was faint and found herself reaching for the call button … her heart rate accelerating at an alarming rate now … her skin prickling with goose flesh by the time Rose was upon her._

 _###_

Rachel inhaled sharply and focused on Rose as she checked the last of her vital signs, where she was now situated in her bed again. "How's your vision?" the experienced nurse asked of her, making a notation her the chart before she looked up, her blond hair behind her ears, her voice, soothing, but direct.

"Fine now," Rachel answered. She exhaled, blinking to test herself. "There's only _one_ Rose," she smirked.

"So I've been told," Rose retorted playfully.

Rachel smiled and relaxed into their banter. "Of course … … I'm aware, it is quite normal for coma patients to experience a range of symptoms for weeks, even months after waking," she breathed, her voice catching.

Rose held her gaze. "That much is true," she confirmed. There was a knock at the door and she answered without looking away, "Come in."

The door swung open slowly and Lieutenant Burk peeked inside. Rachel and Rose smiled in tandem, alighted by his friendly, familiar face.

"Dr. Scott," he smiled broadly and then he faltered slightly, "Should I come back?"

Rose smiled and glanced at Rachel. "Lieutenant Burk," Rachel smiled. "No … please stay, I was expecting you," she sighed, holding his gaze. "I was … feeling quite dizzy a moment ago, but I seem to have recovered …," she admitted candidly.

Another flash of unease crossed over his face, but he answered smoothly, "All right then, I will." He took a seat at the work table.

Rachel turned back to Rose. "I'd hate to admit this, but it's possible I have overdone it within the last day and a half," she conceded. "I'm fatigued …," she acknowledged with a heavy sigh.

Rose removed the blood pressure cuff from Rachel's forearm and nodded. "I would tend to agree, though most coma patients come to this conclusion at some point within the first week of waking – _let's just monitor how persistent your symptoms are_ – but for now, they are well within the normal range," she declared.

"So we'll focus on the good then," Rachel smiled, exhaling with relief. She pushed her sleeve down.

"You just need to rest, Rachel … truly – _rest your body_ ** _and_** _your mind_ – which I know is a tall order for you, given the status of your work … and yet, it **must** to be done …," she smiled with encouragement as she stood.

"Thank you … I will slow down, I promise," she whispered sincerely.

 _A smile forming on her face as she thought about the sponge bath she decided on yesterday in the name of 'slowing down' … smirking to herself at the memory of Rose's contorted face as she used a pair of medical scissors to cut down the middle of her tank top in order to get her out of it._

"What?" the older woman intuited with a smile; she closed the chart.

Rachel laughed. "Oh nothing, just thinking about that horrid tank top again," she chuckled.

Rose chortled with a smirk and made to exit. "Lieutenant Burk," she sighed as he stood. "Lovely to see you again, young man," she smiled, looking up at him.

"The pleasure is mine," he beamed. And with that Rose exited the room and Burk turned his attention to Rachel. "Dr. Scott –"

"It's Rachel," she insisted firmly, holding his gaze. She smiled.

"Carlton," he answered from his same spot, a small smile crossing over his serious face now.

"Carlton …," Rachel marveled. "Why not pull up that chair?" she prompted.

"All right then," he answered, moving to sit in the chair closest to her bed. "Do you need anything?" he asked; sitting tall and formal in his uniform.

She smiled at the sailor, attempting to disarm him. She sat up straighter too. "No …," she answered. "But … it is **so** nice to see you …," she declared; her voice cracked, betraying her slightly. "I must sincerely thank you for visiting …," she added. "It was nice to know you spent some time … here with me," she rambled on, emotion getting the better of her as it did with Tex and Bertrise … and even Milowsky.

Carlton's face softened. And then he exhaled into the silence. "Well … it was the right thing to do, after everything …," he sighed. "You were in pretty bad shape," he added frankly.

"So I've been told …," Rachel breathed, her thoughts returning to Tom and his wait for her to wake up.

"You know … if I can speak freely …," Carlton exhaled, shifting in his seat; he looked up and trained his eyes on hers.

"Absolutely," she answered. "And … confidentially – _I hope you know that_ – in light of how blurred the lines have been –"

"I do … I trust you," he interrupted. "And that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about …," he sighed heavily.

"Oh …," Rachel smiled, regarding the sailor now, maintaining her focus on his serious, dark eyes. "So … you were saying …," she encouraged.

"What it comes down to is … … I'm sorry," he exhaled sharply.

"Whatever for?" she wondered curiously, she shifted, her shoulder radiating.

"For judging you, being harsh on you …," he explained. "For casting doubt on you back when Green came down with Dengue fever –"

Rachel chuckled. "The lockdown," she muttered, eyeing him carefully. "Those damn monkeys … feels like a lifetime ago …," she breathed.

 _She sighed, her thoughts drifting to Tex and all the waiting they did and her vivid dream and then to seeing Tom Chandler again after imaging the worst … and then all the mishaps with the monkeys … so many trials … so much time spent feeling alone and rather afraid some of the time._

"Yeah … it does …," Carlton sighed, holding her gaze. "I had a moment then when Danny went down, you know – _to trust you … to believe you … or to act out of fear_ – and I let fear win," he admitted with a sigh. "Which for someone like me is … unheard of," he went on.

"I think I can understand that more than you may realize," Rachel offered. "And … for what it's worth … I think you are one of the bravest people I've ever met," she added sincerely, her eyes pricked with tears now.

Carlton sighed and pressed his lips into a thin line. He tilted his head. "You know … when I replay that time in the lounge in my mind, I realize … I saw it all _– the look in the Captain's eyes when he questioned you … and your science –_ and the look in yours when he ordered the lockdown … … you were both pretty tormented," he recalled.

Rachel reflected. "Yes … _'tormented'_ is one word for it," she sighed, her mind wild now.

"I also remember what you said, that none of it mattered – _because if Danny had it_ – then we were all dead anyway …," he sighed, his liquid brown eyes fixed on hers. "You were so blunt," he chuckled.

"Well, diplomacy has never really been my specialty," she sighed, repeating Tom's assessment of her after he had listened to her argument with Quincy that day in the brig.

Carlton smiled. "No … perhaps not," he deemed. "But in thinking back, I also remember how you didn't hesitate to take care of Danny …," he articulated. "You touched his face, wiped his mouth … you **cared** … even if he ended up being infected, which you knew he **wasn't** … you still were there for him," he navigated through his thoughts. "And right there – _I think I realized how wrong I was about you_ – and how fearless you really were … **are** … you're tough …," he marveled, his eyes searching hers now.

"I've heard that sentiment a lot lately … the fearless bit," Rachel sighed with a small reflective smile. "Fearless to a fault," she said, another one of Tom's assessments on her mind now. "And I can admit – _this virus has done something to me like no other_ – made me even more reckless or fearless than ever before," she admitted, her mind wild with implication now: _dreams, weapons, monkeys, cures, vaccines._

She watched Burk nod in assent and she wondered if he was thinking about Neils Sorensen and his demise at her hands. But instead he relaxed into his seat and said with a reflective smile, "And then Foster showed up, ousting herself … now that was plain crazy!"

Rachel smiled in tandem, sitting back and into her pillows. "Yes … I understand now how unbelievable that was," she sighed, thinking of love and how it seemed to have a zero-tolerance for boundaries. "She loves him …," she deemed thoughtfully. "Love won over fear in her case …," she sighed wistfully.

 _The pair fell silent then, each lost within their own meandering thoughts on love and fear and the catalysts that seem drive decision-making._

 _The storm still raged outside, the wind howled in the distance and Rachel thought of Tom and the wild look lodged in his eyes when he ran out of the jungle that day in Nicaragua. It haunted her still, his face. His eyes, so dark and foreboding – for in the short while she'd known him at the time (and in all the time they had known each other since) – she had never seen him so shaken or bewildered … not even when she first informed him of the virus and the true nature of their mission … not even then had he been so distraught._

 _Her skin pricked with fear, even now._

" _Well … that's how it's supposed to be, right?"_ came Burk's voice from far away. _"Everything is just moving along and then BOOM … there it is … love …,"_ he breathed, his voice catching.

"What was that?" Rachel prompted, pulled from her thoughts.

"Love … it comes out of nowhere … doesn't it?" he repeated evenly.

"Oh …," she sighed. "I think I understand the idea of love a lot less than you think I might," she smiled evenly … _thinking of blurred lines and no fraternization rules._

He chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think so …," he smiled knowingly, turning to look at the office behind him for a beat before he turned back to her.

"Hmm …," she smiled sheepishly; her cheeks flushed … _a rosy, perfect pink … ousting her now._

Carlton smirked. "Enough said," he laughed and so did she.

Rachel relaxed then and basked in her marker because it was true enough that love did crazy things to people. She sighed and pinned her eyes to Burk's. "Of course … I _have_ had some time here to think about that sort of thing … of circumstances mostly … and timing, both dreadful and surreal …," she mused thoughtfully.

"Me too …," he answered. "Visiting you forced me to be alone with my thoughts – _gave me some time to think about things_ – off the ship … …," he sighed heavily.

"And by things … I assume you mean Ravit …," she intuited hesitantly.

His jaw set; his eyes smiled though. "I do …," he sighed heavily, a wondrous look crossing over his more serious features now.

 _And then all was quiet again for several moments. Burk looked away from her and toward the window and watched the storm outside, the dull fluorescent light somehow accentuating his masked anxieties – those emotions Ravit evoked – the side of himself he had a chance to examine inside this sanctuary of sorts … this room, the vessel for so many unearthed emotions. And Rachel understood that sentiment, that mindset, perfectly … having had her moments of reflection here too._

" _I could have loved her, you know … the way Danny loves Kara …,"_ he said eventually, his eyes still focused on the storm. _"She captivated me … her place in my life … suddenly on the James … she was so … unexpected …,"_ he confessed, exhaling through his admission. He turned back to Rachel, a fierce intensity in his eyes now. He shook his head, perhaps searching for his words. She said nothing and let him be, let him linger inside the moment of reflection. And then he spoke. "And you know what sucks?" he asked of her. "I'll never know … if it was circumstances … or fate … or what she was supposed to mean to me …," he blinked, looking down and away.

"Perhaps it was both … and I **do** think you know what she meant to you …," Rachel said softly. Burk eyed her carefully. "What matters now is what you do with her legacy … what she's left to you …," she postulated aloud, thinking now about Michael … and Dr. Hunter … and her mother.

"And how do I do that?" Burk asked of her.

"You remember her – _as she was to you_ – I mean … the idea that you _could_ have loved her probably means … you did," she counseled, her eyes glassy now. Burk nodded in assent. "And you must cherish that because like you said … love just materializes without discrimination … and it's something to behold for sure …," she said softly.

"So you think you can't help who you love?" he asked of her then.

"Yes … love makes no sense," she replied … _thinking now of science … and circumstances and dreams and fate and timing and destinies … and Tom._

"Is that how you feel about … … the Captain?" he brazenly asked, his voice low, reflective.

"Yes …," she admitted candidly. She exhaled. "Though it's a complicated evolution for … us," she sighed into their shared confessional.

"More fate and circumstances … this virus … … this world …," Burk pondered then. "You know what I would say to the Captain if I could speak freely … …," he sighed, his voice trailing off.

"What?" she wondered, her smile matching his.

"The same thing I'll say to you …," he said, leaning forward. His eyes, fearless. "Act now …," he declared evenly. "Don't wait for the _'complicated evolution'_ to sort itself out … because … what if it doesn't?" he breathed, his question lingering between them … the rain fell outside … and thunder clapped in the distance.

 _###_

The rain continued into the late afternoon and Rachel grew tired. Rather dizzy and reluctant to fight her fatigue now, she turned the reading lamp off and watched the watery shadows dance along the walls of her room – _underwater swirls of light, swaying to the environmental beat_ – the wind still howling. With some effort, she reached for the extra blanket Rose left at the foot of her bed and thought about asking for a Motrin, but dismissed the idea immediately.

Laying back, she thought about Carlton Burk and how soulful of a man he really was, as if his loss of Ravit somehow added layers of depth to him overnight. But in truth, it was her estimation that this pandemic had done that to every person in its path. It added unforeseen experiences to all of their lives and there was nothing anyone could do to stop the fallout – _the inertia of their new circumstances_ – whether tragic or magical … all seemed to be the stuff of fate. Mere predetermined and predestined outcomes without discrimination. Both scientifically and mathematically, some would survive and a great many would perish … or disappear or simply become tormented in the aftermath.

Exhaling on those sentiments, Rachel closed her eyes, her wild thoughts coming to a swift end where she promptly fell asleep and everything was dark and shadowy and fluid and endless.

 _###_

 _And then all was quiet. Quiet and relatively peaceful until the faint, familiar hum of the Nathan James was all she heard along with her pounding heart as she suddenly found her footing and stepped over the threshold and into her dimly-lit lab._

 _She blinked and then she sighed – the hangar garage closed now, Quincy was still locked up in the brig – crates of monkeys were lined up along the far corner – their calls to one another frenetic … yet, soothing all the same … their cacophony, their mere presence, proof that the sailors had returned from the jungle, safe and out of harm's way._

 _And it was here that Rachel finally lost it after what felt like an eternity of waiting – standing on the deck, searching the horizon, scouring the distance – the Nathan James idle … listless without her Captain. She felt wretched. Sighing now, she stood completely still and permitted herself to push aside the wild fears that resonated from her dream regarding the Captain … and his disappearance … and his apparent torture therein._

 _Her desperate plea to Tex still lingering in her mind, her lungs on fire, 'Something's happened, I know it.'_

 _She stilled her heart, but the strangled look of Chandler's blank stare was all she could suddenly see – confronting her demons now, she pushed this mental image of him out of her head – this vestige of her dream … and began pace, back and forth like a caged animal._

" _He's fine!" she lamented. Her heart bleated, protesting now. "Damn it!"_

 _Sitting down at her small desk, she prepared five vials for blood samples, silently repeating each man's name as she labeled the tubes, her hands shaking … Mason, Green, Jeter, Slattery and Chandler. Setting her marker down, she worked quickly to gather the balance of what she needed and exited the lab, heading directly to the quarantine._

 _She walked with purpose now – grappling with her nonsensical emotions – privately curling into herself where she wept tears of relief … and tears of thanks … but to whom, she had no idea._

 _Exhaling, she tried her best to regulate her heartbeat – her muscle racing like a banshee again – just as it had when she woke up from her dream only to find Tex there with her … the sailors, the Captain … still missing … still held captive by the cavernous jungle of the island._

 _And then another memory: the Captain's strangled demand as he charged from within the jungle that day – "YOU. ARE. OUTTA HERE,_ ** _NOW_** _!" – still echoing, where within those split-seconds she saw the man he really was underneath all of the titles and medals and promotions … she saw his fear as a father and husband and a curator of the lives under his command._

 _And in that moment …_

… _the one where they separated …_

… _she briefly wondered what would happen if she never saw him again …_

 _And then he was gone._

 _And so try as she might now … she looked for a rational reason as to why she would care so much for a man whom disliked and doubted her so. For so powerless was she against her desires – that she could do nothing more than search for those reasons – to find the catalyst of those fears that had been manifested within her dream, both so real and frightening … that she was haunted … even now … even after his safe passage and arrival back on the ship._

 _Collecting her senses, Rachel stopped just outside the quarantine and paused just for a moment … rationalizing now that all she needed was to_ ** _see_** _him in the flesh – to see him and know that they would move on from this day – from this limbo … and that they still had a chance to solve this thing, even if that meant she did it alone._

 _For it was here that she realized the basis of her fears._

 _Because there inside that moment, she recognized he was her_ ** _only_** _ally … her only hope for success – for it was no secret that the XO had a certain disdain for her – which she understood and appreciated … she was disliked; she kept secrets from them in the Arctic, an offense she knew was unforgiveable. And so in her estimation, Tom Chandler, was her_ ** _only_** _hope – she saw this now – and therein, she also knew she had to earn his trust because their lives depended upon it._

 _Emboldened by her realizations, she opened the door and passed through the threshold where she was met by four of the men … Mason by far, in the worst condition. He looked up to her and nodded in assent, favoring his leg that had gotten stuck in the animal trap. Slattery looked away from her. Green held her gaze. Master Chief rose to greet her, for diplomacy was definitely one of his strong suits._

" _Dr. Scott," he nodded, his smooth voice and all-seeing eyes no worse for the wear._

" _Master Chief," she nodded in return, holding his gaze. Doing her best now to follow the chain of command (at least as it stood in this room without Chandler), she turned to Slattery. "May I draw some blood from you and these men to do a quick test for viral contact?" she asked of him, quickly assessing the deep gash on his right cheek … her intuitive fears of what they may have encountered coming full circle again._

" _Yes," he sighed, finally making eye contact with her. "Perhaps we can do Mason first, so he can get to sick bay," he asserted._

 _Rachel smiled, her best attempt at disarming an uncomfortable, unnerving situation. "This test is designed to detect viral antibodies … it's a simple blood draw for you," she explained then, regaining her footing._

 _###_

 _Master Chief hesitated before he exited the quarantine, the last to depart. Rachel looked up to find him. "The men are fine, Dr. Scott … be rest assured of that," he intuited. "Shaken perhaps … but we got what we went for, Captain should be finished any minute now," he added. And with that he nodded in assent and exited the quarantine room._

 _And then all was quiet. And she was alone in the antechamber waiting for the Captain to materialize … again. She sat down on the bench and prepared the last vial, his name staring back at her while she wondered what or who they had encountered on that island – because she was absolutely certain now, with the defensive injuries the men had sustained – it wasn't just monkeys._

 _And then the door opened behind her and the Captain appeared, stunning her akin to an apparition. Standing tall in the breezeway, his silhouette so broad, he disappeared inside the frame of the darkened doorway. He held his camouflage shirt in his hands, having donned only a Nathan James, navy blue t-shirt. His skin was still red, pink after his scalding shower. His lips were chapped. Her gasp of surprise lingered in the silence between them._

" _Did I startle you, Dr. Scott?" he asked formally, stepping into the room, his serious eyes … dark and careworn._

 _She shook her head 'no', somehow rendered speechless by his presence. "Captain …," was all she could say._

 _He crossed the room where he came to sit beside her on the bench. He smelled of antiseptic soap and untamed heat still radiated from his body. She opened an antiseptic wipe, breathing in, out, in, out … in an effort to quell her shaking hands._

" _We got your monkeys," he offered after a moment, his voice low, monotone._

 _She looked at him, setting the needle and cap down on her portable tray. "I've seen them … well, they're still in their crates … but thank you," she breathed, her eyes pinned to his now where she carefully assessed him. "May I test your blood for viral antibodies?" she asked of him._

 _He nodded in assent and held his arm out for her. "And my men?" he prompted. "So far –"_

" _I saw they each had some defensive wounds … … but no viral contact … their samples came back negative…," Rachel reported evenly, maintaining eye contact with him for a brief moment then – suspended in time – watching now as the man, the Captain and the guardian embodied within him sighed with relief._

 _She watched him carefully for a beat longer before she got to work on collecting his sample, peppering him with the same questions she'd asked the other men – How close did he come to an infected person, dead or alive? Did he touch any bodily fluids? Did he share a glass or utensil with any infected person? Did he sustain any cuts, bruises or defensive wounds? – questions designed to assess risk … questions that gave her an idea of what they encountered._

 _To his credit (and much to her surprise), the Captain answered her candidly and with more color on what they encountered than the men under his command. Informing her of the hostiles they confronted and the tyrant who'd dominated the compound and held them hostage and how they orchestrated their release. And … how they went back to liberate the other hostages – and how the tyrant finally met his match and his demise. She listened with bated breath to his story … her dark, shadowy dream, coming to fruition as she did._

 _He paused, catching her eyes then where he stared at her. She stared back and sighed. "You don't need to hear anymore," he deemed, quieting himself, erecting his barriers again._

 _Inhaling sharply, Rachel yanked herself from her perplexing reverie, setting the antiseptic wipe on his arm while she added pressure to his puncture site. "All done," she whispered, looking up to find his eyes again … a lighter shade of blue now. He tilted his head and regarded her, the silence between them oddly comfortable … and comforting._

" _Everything I just told you must be held in absolute confidence," he said in a hushed tone then; he pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw set._

" _Understood …," she answered, holding his gaze until he looked away. "I … I have no one to speak with regardless, Captain …," she found herself acknowledging … because it was the truth – she was alone in this thing – it was her against the world._

 _He eyed her carefully. "You can come to me," he reasoned then, his jaw still set._

" _Oh?" she once again found herself speechless, having been stymied by fear for so long when they were off in the hostile jungle … fighting to survive._

" _I may not understand everything you want to talk about …," he sighed, trying to find his footing. "But I do know … you have what you need to test that vaccine," he went on. "And if I can help you in any way … I will," he asserted pragmatically._

" _Yes, I have what I need," she breathed. "Again … thank you, for collecting the monkeys – and for taking that risk – I know this is more than you bargained for …," she breathed, residual guilt surfacing again._

 _Chandler exhaled. "The risks do not outweigh the return … and none of them will until we're successful," he replied evenly. "Our mission is one in the same now – find the vaccine, save the world – right?" he added, tilting his head._

" _Yes, it is …," she exhaled, the mounting pressure of the situation quickly rising to the surface where she made every effort to hold herself together. "I'll do my best," she sighed in resignation. She watched the tube of blood for a reaction – nothing – he was all clear. She sighed heavily. "You've have had no viral contact," she determined then, at last finding her footing._

 _And therein she watched a subtle amount of tension depart from Chandler's face … and for that, she found herself grateful._

 _###_

Later that evening Rachel stood at the window again. The room was dark save for the small reading lamp she'd left on in the corner and the floodlight by the door that illuminated the entryway to the room. The sun had gone down and night was upon her now as she surveyed her reflection in the window … _she looked fatigued and her hair was a mess._ Impulsively, she reached up with her right arm to fix it before her muscles screamed and she stopped herself, leaving her hair be, for the thought of a wrestling match with her braids seemed futile at this point.

She glanced at her bed, she was restless, but too tired to really sleep. She felt unsettled as if she was missing something big. And therein her desperation mounted again and she felt alone and isolated … reminiscent of those early days on the Nathan James after her secret mission had been exposed.

Perhaps it was the events of her day … with Lieutenant Burk's visit and their conversation and then her mind's eye playing tricks on her again about Tom and his disappearing act in Nicaragua. Except that in her heart of hearts, Rachel knew it was more than that … _it was intrinsic …_ and therein she felt her spirit plummet.

Alone and somewhat afraid now, she paced, retracing the steps she'd taken within the last day and half. Had she missed something? A barrage of thoughts streamed through her mind then … virus mutations … contagious cure models … specifications for the mass-production of the original cure … but nothing presented itself, all of her bases were covered.

And yet, she was still ill at ease – _unbalanced and insecure_ – and she secretly wondered if this was just another side-effect of waking up from a coma. She was missing something. There was a knock at the door then and she stopped pacing.

"Come in," she answered.

 _The door slowly opened and Tom appeared within – the light from the hallway behind him dimmed by his silhouette – he stepped inside the room and the door closed and suddenly … everything was aligned. Peaceful. Calm. Grounded. She sighed, her eyes trained on his – what was it that Carlton said – oh yes: 'Love … it comes out of nowhere.' And there inside that moment, Rachel realized that the he was right._

"Hello …," she said breathlessly, her lifeline already tethered to him … her heart raced.

"Hey …," he replied softly, he held a paper shopping bag in his hand which he set upon the work table. "Dinner," he explained, glancing at the bag with a handsome smile. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved button down shirt: _blue, simple_. He fixed his eyes upon hers. "Should you be out of bed?" he wondered as he crossed the room and came to stand in front of her.

"Burk told you?" she breathed, looking up to him, her pulse quickening as her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness again and she found his … blue, bright, familiar.

He shook his head, a small smile playing along his lips. "Nope …," he quipped and took her left hand in his, pressing his palm against hers.

Rachel smiled broadly. "Rose …," she speculated, stepping closer.

Tom nodded in assent. "I called to inform you I would be later than expected and you were resting," he explained.

"I heard as much … thank you," she smiled, leaning into his heat.

"She told me then …," he went on. "She said you had been sleeping for a long while …," he intimated with concern. "Any more dreams I need to know about?" he whispered intimately, his eyes pinned to hers … a wondrous smile etched along his face now.

Rachel froze. She smiled in recollection. "No … nothing new … but surreal all the same," she answered, staring at him, her thoughts coming full circle now: _monkeys, dreams, Nicaragua, viruses, cures, hope … fearlessness._

"Something about you … and me?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Rachel exhaled, pushing her palm against Tom's where she steadied herself. "No, not exactly … but … all day I've been thinking about this dream I had once … it was so vivid and terrifying … so real …," she navigated carefully now.

"A nightmare …," Tom sighed, tilting his head, his eyes somehow a shade darker.

"Yes …," she whispered, her heart reacting, racing now.

"Something recurring from childhood?" he wondered, reaching up, he brushed the backs of his fingers along her angular cheeks.

Rachel shook her head and spoke quickly, gathering her nerves, her heart beating wildly now. "No … just … you …," she admitted, she swallowed hard. "And a sixth-sense I had about your trip to get those monkeys for me …," she whispered.

"Nicaragua …," Tom breathed softly, his eyes searching hers … deep pools of dark reflection now.

Rachel nodded in assent. "I dreamt you were tortured …," she exhaled, finally loosening her hold upon the dreamscape.

 _Tom exhaled sharply, surely thinking about those hours, the hostiles they encountered along with the confounding situation they were immersed in. Rachel's mind was wild with implications … and though it seemed as if years had passed since those precarious times – she knew now that those months spent on the Nathan James – fighting for the human race, had changed not only their circumstances … but their innate selves as well._

" _Rachel … if there's more … tell me,"_ came Tom's voice, pulling her from her reverie.

Rachel felt her cheeks heat. "Yes … sorry …," she breathed, making eye contact again. He smiled weakly and so did she. "Remember, there was that green flare you sent up?" she asked of him then. He nodded in assent. "And then radio silence that went on and on and it just got the better of me – _except that in this dream you didn't come back_ – you disappeared … into thin air … and everything fell apart," she recalled, holding his gaze. "It was only then … when the world was lost and I had no hope for a vaccine … … only then did I wake up – _and I'll never forget, we were in the lounge and I fell asleep and Tex was there with me_ – and I was so spooked when you were still gone …," she shook her head desperately. "And I swear, Tom … I never wanted to see someone again as much as I wanted your safe passage back to the Nathan James …," she whispered urgently, her voice cracking into their shared silence. Her eyes searching his for answers, even now. "It was tormenting … waiting for you … … not knowing what would happen … or if we still had a chance … to save everybody …," she cried, rambling on, her wild thoughts catching up with her now.

Tom cupped his hands around her face, his eyes glistening against the fragmented light. He blinked and a lone tear slipped from the corner of his right eye and fell, down, down, of its own free will. "You're all right … I had no idea … we went back … we had to go back," he whispered, his eyes pleading now. "We're fine … everything's all right … we survived the best we could … with the decisions we all had to make … none of it was meant to be easy, I know that now …," he rambled on, his fingertips dancing along her temple where he smoothed her wild tresses away from her face.

 _Rachel tilted her head into his touch and Tom said nothing more before he drew her near, folding her gently into the envelope of his arms. She felt him shudder and she wondered what he was thinking as they stood there, reconnecting. She closed her eyes and lost herself inside the innate heat of his embrace, her left hand flat against his lower back – he smelled of soap and coffee and … Tom, just Tom – his chin pressed upon her halo, he swayed and she followed his lead to his silent rhythm. He sighed and ran his fingertips from the nape of her neck, down along the length of her spine. Her skin pricked with heat and she became malleable in his embrace … at one with him in a way that she'd never expected. And then everything was aligned and quiet: the weather, her room, her mind … everything … until …_

" _How do you feel now?"_ came his baritone, deep and soothing. " _Any dizziness?"_ he sighed heavily into the silence.

Rachel opened her eyes. "No …," she sighed. "Right now … I'm just fine …," she breathed, craning her neck up to find his eyes … clear and endless now. "And you?" she whispered.

He smiled. "I'm more than fine …," he exhaled, his eyes dancing with hers now.

 _###_

 _Rachel listened to Tom's animated narration of this week's Nathan James' dinner at the hotel. These dinners were organized by Michener whereby any available shipmate from the Nathan James (along with other recently appointed government personnel) were invited to share a light, buffet-style dinner to reconnect and remain cohesive, despite the varying duties they all had taken on, ensigns included. The events, according to Tom (and Mike and Russ), were morale boosters and very much in line with Michener's overall agenda of rebuilding the nation._

 _Smiling, Rachel envisioned this event, set up in a ballroom where she might see her old pal Bacon … or fresh-faced Miller or the more serious Garnett. Sitting back, she shifted through the pain from her wounds and listened with great interest to Tom's candid update on the reformation of the U.S. government – a time in history that would perhaps define the future more than any other time before – a time in which every move Michener made had an unforeseen ripple effect wherein the fallout might remain unknown for years or even decades to come. 'Infrastructure' was a buzz word along with prosperity … longevity … survivalists … traditionalists … in truth, the 'lists' went on and on._

Rachel yawned loudly, her hand flying to cover her mouth before she smiled sheepishly and pushed her soup away. She regarded Tom and he, her.

"Am I boring you, Dr. Scott?" he teased her then; he flashed a radiant smile.

"Quite the contrary," she smiled, inhaling sharply. "Although I _was_ thinking … this feels rather domestic … doesn't it?" she quipped, her eyes fixed on his.

"And domestication is boring?" he retorted playfully with another broad smile. Rachel laughed and promptly yawned again. Her eyes widened with surprise. "You don't say?" he snickered, folding his napkin; he set it on the table and stood.

"My apologies …," she laughed breathlessly, her cheeks red now as she looked up to him.

Tom chuckled and shook his head; he held his hand out for her. She took it and stood. "Actually … I was thinking the same thing just then," he articulated carefully.

"You were?" she wondered with a smile.

"Hmm …," he hummed, lacing his fingers through hers. "And … I wanted to speak with you about something …," he added, leading her to her bed.

"Something domestic?" Rachel smirked and with some effort came to sit on the side of her bed … breathing through the twists and turns of pain now. Tom chuckled and stepped closer, his intense eyes suddenly riddled with concern where he silently asked her if she was all right to which she nodded in assent, her left hand reflexively cupping her right elbow. "I'm okay …," she assured, taking his hand in hers. "So … you were saying?" she prompted.

"Well … I have a logistics question for you … … a personal one …," he breathed, a flash of insecurity moved across his handsome face; he set his free hand on her knee.

Rachel exhaled, reacting to the heat of his simple touch. "Go on …," she replied softly.

"During my brief discussion with Rose today, she mentioned in a few days, you'll likely be discharged," he relayed with a small smile.

"That is the hope," she sighed, her smile matching his.

"And when you are … well …," he hesitated. "We're all still staying at the hotel as you know … and in the interest of making you comfortable …," he smiled, his eyes trained on hers. "I … want to move your things into the suite next to my father's … and I wanted to know what you thought about that," he elaborated, his boyish charm on full display now.

"So you're asking me if I want to be your neighbor?" she smiled, tilting her head. She batted her lashes and winked.

Tom laughed and looked down and away for a beat. "I suppose so …," he articulated. "But really … I just want you to be comfortable after the shooting there … and I wasn't sure … …," he whispered, his voice trailed off, but he fastened his eyes to her nonetheless. "I don't want to overstep – _I know you don't need me to take care of you_ – God knows we both know that, but –"

"You want to, regardless …," she said, setting her left hand along his handsome face.

"Yes …," he answered candidly, stepping closer, his abdomen flush against her knees now.

Rachel smiled; her heart trumpeted … _'he cares'_ , was all she could think as she moved her hand and set it on his chest, his heart pushing against her palm. "Well … in that case … I'll make it easy for you …," she declared softly then. He smiled and set his hand on her good shoulder, his fingers twirling her hair. "Captain … will you please have my things moved to the suite next to your father's so I can be off of the wing where the shooting took place and closer to you and your family …," she prattled on, a playful smile reaching her eyes now.

Tom chuckled. "Well that was easy …," he exhaled with a grin.

 _Rachel yawned again and they shared a laugh wherein she brazenly leaned forward and kissed the handsome plane of his cheek – her lips lingering just long enough for everything to stop – their brand of heat encapsulating her for a brief, still moment in time._

"Thank you for dinner," she whispered into his ear.

"Hmm …," Tom hummed, leaning into her touch. "Thank you for the conversation … however domestic it was …," he whispered softly, his hand moving down from her shoulder to her knee.

She inhaled sharply and found his eyes once more. Untamed heat radiated between them. "Thank you for moving my things …," she replied, tufts of hot air ricocheting between them now. "And for caring …," she added swiftly, looking down and away from the intensity of his stare now.

"That's par for the course … I care … of course I care …," he husked, leaning down, he found her eyes and held her inside the moment, his gaze unwavering … his eyes crystal clear now.

"I can't wait to get out of here …," she sighed impatiently, lacing her fingers through his.

Tom chortled. "And I can't wait to _get_ you out of here," he smirked, his voice low, intimate.

"Want to jailbreak me?" she pleaded with him, batting her lashes.

"No … nope, we're doing this by the book …," he sighed and she laughed. "Old habits, die hard, I like by the book … plus Rose would never forgive me," he deadpanned with a grin.

"That much is true," she laughed. "I'm used to that now … you know?" she whispered. "All of your protocols …," she explained. "The clock-winding announcement thing still unnerves me though," she snickered into their shared.

Tom chuckled. "How about I promise to never ask you … to wind my clock?" he flirted brazenly then.

Rachel exhaled into the silence and set her palm upon his chest again … his heartbeat: _systematic, strong, virile_. "How will I ever know what makes you tick then?" she wondered, tilting her head; she smiled.

"You already know, Rachel …" he said, setting his palm upon her heart. "Your answers are right here," he said thickly wherein her heart went nuts – _aligning, matching its rhythm with his muscle as it beat under her palm_ – and suddenly she knew he was right.

 _And there inside that moment they smiled in tandem … both flushed and thinking about those intrinsic inter-workings that drew them to each other: hearts and desires and fate and circumstances and destinies … both real and surreal – and finally ripe for the taking in the here and now – for she was almost out of this room and therein, life would begin again._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Chapter 7 – Heart's Desires**

Tom stood inside the CIC flanked by Foster and Mason on his left and Slattery and Garnett on his right. The map of the world illuminated on the large Da-Vinci screen before them featured an overlay of the epidemiological results of the contagious cure and its progress thus far – _the silence of the moment encapsulating him as he absorbed their collective successes_ – his thoughts circulating around everything it took to get to this moment.

 _Everything they had endured …_

… _their defeats … their successes …_

… _the decisions they had been forced to make in the name of this mission …_

… _somehow mitigated now by the widespread movement of this unfathomable cure._

' _Rachel', he chanted silently. 'Rachel,' he whispered her name again, imagining her alone in her lab with Neils. Alone and overcome by desperation. Alone and without a confidant to share in the burden of the task set before her._

He shook his head, pulling himself free from his reverie. "And purple is still what we want, correct?" he wondered aloud.

Noticing how the _red_ _quarantined areas_ had merged with the _blue healthy areas_ and become one with each other, illustrated by a deep, regal purple.

"Yes, Sir," Garnett smiled.

"And all of these the black circular lines there," Tom pointed. "What do they represent?" he asked.

"Wind patters, Sir," answered Mason.

"And there's no irregularity there?" he prompted, turning to face them.

"No, not for this time of year," Foster answered. "The cure is moving around the world like the new flu strain moves from Asia and circumnavigates the globe year over year," she explained.

"It's really something else," Slattery said then, his voice low, deep and reflective. "She did it …," he said, marveling at Rachel.

Tom smiled broadly. "Yes she did …," he answered affirmatively … for she really did make something beautiful and all-encompassing out of something foul and degrading. He huffed. "For now – _as long as the cure travels properly_ – we'll continue to focus our efforts on surveillance for hot spots and immune dead-enders that would prevent a full blown recovery," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Foster answered with a nod.

CMC Jeter entered the CIC then and approached the group. "Good morning, Captain," he greeted smoothly, nodding to all.

"Morning, Master Chief," Tom greeted with a smile. "About ready to push off?" he asked of him.

"Yes, Sir," the esteemed Master Chief answered. "Green and Burk are standing by and will take you and XO out to the residential site when you're ready," he confirmed.

 _Tom nodded in assent and then he smiled, his eyes landing on the illuminated map again wherein he was jarred by an idea. A course of uncertain energy claiming him for a beat as he stood idle and held Master Chief's unwavering gaze, caught once again between holding onto the past and moving on and into the future. Sighing heavily, he turned to Foster and Mason._

"Lieutenant Foster, could you drop any and all surveillance and satellite imagery of a _'Flora Island'_ on all my comm. devices, including the hospital?" he asked of her quickly.

"Sure thing, do you have any coordinates?" she asked, tilting her head.

"It's one of the Philippines Islands … that's all I've got," he stated evenly, his mind wild with the idea of learning more about Rachel's beloved island.

"That'll do," she nodded in assent.

 _###_

Stepping onto the deck a short while later, Tom headed to the hull – _his eyes on the horizon_ – the crisp air whipping up and around him as he walked into the wind, the sun high in the sky above him. The Mississippi River moved beneath the James: _placid, smooth … peaceful and endless … murky and familiar now._ Glancing at his watch, he had about ten minutes before they would depart and the convoy would take him out to where they would ultimately settle: _here in the port of St. Louis._

 _And it was_ ** _here_** _, that Tom paused again, marginally resisting the idea of making plans to settle – of starting over – of building a life here … of leaving his old life behind._

A new life … so vastly different than everything he'd built with Darien until a mere nine months ago. Acute sadness claimed him then … and just as his father had advised him to do … Tom let it. Because his father was right – _if he didn't allow himself to mourn that life_ – to recognize everything that was lost … he might never really learn to live and prosper and grow in the here and now.

And so he did that now – _he yielded with greater ease_ – remembering the finer details of their conversation this morning, details that had evaded him until now.

 _###_

 _He remembered feeling at odds with himself, knowing the team had set their sights on escorting him out to Lafayette Square today, having painstakingly secured the area through a cooperative effort with the city's local government as it stood. The pressure mounted._

" _I'm not sure if I can just up and leave all of those memories in Norfolk, Dad," he said from the window sill of the main suite – his eyes on the sun as it rose – his heart trumpeting with the thought of abandoning the homestead he'd lovingly built with Darien. "When it comes down to it … I still feel rotten about the finality of it," he confessed, turning away from the window, he found his father in the dimly lit suite._

 _Jed offered him a cup of coffee. "I've handled that," he said softly then. He blinked, training his eyes on his son._

" _What?" Tom breathed, his voice catching, his hands warmed by the hot mug as he stilled his heart, breathing, in and out._

" _What do you mean, 'what'?" Jed answered. "I can't be your father anymore?" the older Chandler chided gently. "Of course I handled it, Son … for you … you're still my boy," he smiled, his weathered eyes gassy now._

" _I don't understand …," Tom whispered, he shook his head … at a complete loss for words, his heart racing as he crossed the room and sat down on the sofa. He set the mug down on the side table._

 _His father moved and sat next to him. "I'll explain it then …," he smiled._

 _And there inside that moment as Tom listened to his father, he finally had a measure of understanding of what their lives had been like when he was off on this mission. Of course, he had an_ ** _idea_** _all along, but it never occurred to him that the 'army strategist' persona imbedded deep within his father had emerged and taken an orderly look at their life and approached the organization of it in a pragmatic way that suggested he would need to be prepared to move the family at any time … whether it be out of necessity or choice._

 _And as such, Jed Chandler very gently explained to his son that he had the kids pack up their rooms, having explained to them that they may need to leave the house again and that he wanted things to be ready if that need was to arise. He also informed Tom that he personally handled his and Darien's room and eventually had the military convoy take some Darien's everyday clothing to the local survivor's shelter._

 _He also assured Tom that he took great care in packing the things he imagined Darien would have liked to save for Tom and the children, putting aside the boxes he noticed she had already packed herself – for she was well aware of the dangers that confounded them so – and therein had gone to great lengths to pack and label boxes of memorabilia._

" _I must remind you, Son … Darien was a practical woman … a Navy wife," he said after a long moment of silence. "She had labeled a great many items in your room with tiny white stickers … she told me this later – much later, after she was already sick – that she'd done that," he sighed. "The white stickers meant 'save' … … and so I did, Tommy, once you got us back there … I saved_ ** _everything_** _she wanted," he whispered thickly._

 _A lone tear slid down Tom's face, his thoughts migrating to Darien and the meaning of her private chore … her tiny white labels._

" _Thanks, Dad … for thinking ahead … … for everything …," he exhaled and shook his head. "And she was … Darien was thoughtful that way … she liked everything just so …," he breathed with a weak smile, nodding in agreement. He swallowed hard, thinking about her enduring such a task without him. "She would know exactly what to do … and I miss her … right now … I feel the void," he declared evenly then, because he truly did … ache for her. His heart twisted._

" _As you should … and as you will from time to time …," his father answered from experience. "But time_ ** _does_** _move on ... and so must you …," he stated evenly. "And you must try … try to find a way to live in the here and now … for yourself and the kids …," he sighed._

" _I know … and I want to, I just feel … everything feels so big …," Tom sighed heavily._

" _I know … and we agreed this would be hard … and yet, it's your reality … you have to live through it," he replied evenly._

 _###_

Master Chief appeared at Tom's side then but he kept his eyes trained on the horizon – _his father's sentiments resonating_ – his tone lingering … soothing … familiar and trustworthy. He sighed after another minute and exhaled into the comfortable silence. Forever a sea Captain, his eyes steady on the horizon, he looked on and forward and then spoke.

"Turns out … my father packed up my house in Norfolk while we were traipsing around the globe …," he exhaled, his hands set on the cool railing in front of him. "And when we had them relocated out here, he asked the Air Force convoy to be on standby on my order to move our things …," he exhaled on the finality of the statement: _on his order._

" _And you feel as though a chapter is closing …,"_ came Master Chief's smooth voice, his _'Chaplain'_ persona fully engaged.

"Yes …," Tom answered candidly, for if there was one person Tom could be candid with regarding personal matters, it was Russ Jeter.

" _And you find yourself … hesitating … resisting …,"_ Russ prompted without judgment.

Tom turned toward him. "No … but I do feel … … stuck … mostly I'm concerned about the kids …," he confessed, his eyes steady on his trusted Chaplain.

"Hmm, well … your kids – _now that they're with you_ – everything in their lives just improved thousands of percentage points …," he replied wisely.

"I know … we're blessed," Tom answered.

"Children adapt," Russ declared then. "And they do so much easier than a sailor is trained to – _they're born that way –_ we **all** are in the beginning …," he sighed. "Of course they look to us for guidance … but they also have keen and unblemished intuitions about them too … they know more about their surroundings and the struggles we face … than we think they do," he went on.

 _Tom nodded his head in assent. Intellectually, he knew Russ was correct, but emotionally, he worried. As their father, their protector … his knee-jerk reaction was to covet them. For it was almost too painful to think about all they had endured without him – the loss of their devoted mother – their beacon, their_ ** _only_** _parent whilst he had been deployed time and time again … gone forever now. The irrevocability of her passing was truly staggering._

 _Their house was suddenly packed. Darien's little white stickers … her last wishes, intact. She was gone._

 _And while the finality of her death had long-since been very real and certain for him, Tom worried that the reality of her passing had yet to fully claim his children. And that by moving on without her, leaving the only home they'd ever known without their dear and cherished mother … certainly those triggers would soon be brought to the forefront and with them would come the awful realization that she was indeed gone forever._

" _May I ask you about Flora Island and its significance?"_ came his confidant's voice.

"Hmm …," Tom smiled weakly and held his steady gaze. "Am I that transparent?" he wondered aloud.

"Not to most people …," Russ replied. "But to me, you can be …," he revealed.

 _Tom swallowed hard and thought about the direction of their conversation and any number of ways he could explain … Flora Island._

 _His thoughts went to Rachel – 'Where is he?' – her tortured call filtered through his mind. And then the other night … when she awoke and put a name to this place, this safe place from her childhood where she somehow ended up … with him. Emotion funneled to his surface and within his own vacuum of safety he began to explain the island's significance … his eyes fixed and steady on the vast horizon before them._

"Flora Island is …," Tom sighed. "The place where Rachel had been just before she awoke from her coma," he exhaled on the truth. "That night when she woke up … I'd never seen someone so … petrified …," he reflected. "The desperate fear in her eyes – _the way she screamed at me_ – my God, Russ, I can still hear her …," he breathed thickly. "She went on and on, looking for someone …," he recited. "As desperate as parent … you know, when you think you've lost your kid at the playground …," he exhaled heavily, her shrill lingering in his ears, even now. "And I remember asking her, who she was looking for … but she was so heartbroken and so … so frantic …," he whispered, turning to Russ.

" _And who was she with …,"_ Russ wondered.

"Me …," Tom stated evenly, turning to face his confidant. "She had been with me … and someone else she was desperate to find," he sighed. Russ tilted his head. "Since then she's intimated to me that she feels conflicted about this dream and what it must signify … she said it was … _'euphoric'_ …," he whispered, his voice trailing off. "And … _'profound'_ … but that she feels confused by what her heart and mind … must … want …," he declared, his eyes steady.

"So … you were together … a couple?" Russ wondered without judgment. Tom nodded slowly in assent. Russ smiled. "Has she since told you more about who else she was looking for?" he prompted.

 _Tom sighed with resignation and shook his head. His heart pounding now as he thought about his conversations with Rachel since – and the way in which they were innately drawn to one another – especially since she'd woken up. There was no doubt in his mind (or hers for that matter) that they were in the thick of it together. And for that, he was truly happy … grounded and ready to let it unfold._

 _He exhaled and tried to find his footing again – for if he was honest with himself, he had an idea about who 'he' was – but to make presumptions on a scale such as that, he felt he needed more than intuition. He wanted proof. And he also knew – deep within his heart – that he longed to know more about this dream and his would-be lover's inner most secret desires. He could admit that much._

"I've tried … and I … have an idea of my own …," he said at last. "But … you know, I don't want to push her, it's been a traumatic nine months …," he breathed, his heart racing, blood pressure rising now. "The way things were between us, before she was shot – _with Neils and that whole ordeal, how at odds we were_ – and the Ramsey's … and all the death and the oil rig disaster …. I don't want to push her … but … …," he exhaled heavily, trying his best to regain his composure.

"You want to know more …," Russ intuited.

"Yes …," Tom confessed.

"And this desire has you feeling stymied – _stuck between the past and the future_ – all this talk about settling … and dreams and the possibility of a relationship … it's feels too real?" he articulated thoughtfully.

"Yes … at times … today, it does …," he exhaled, his heart aching over the past and letting go – _imagining his family home in Norfolk as empty as the day they closed escrow now_ – with its pristine walls and the echo of the wood floors creaking under their feet. His heart pinched low and deep.

Russ smiled. "And do you think, _ultimately_ … that Rachel wants what you want? Even if at the moment … she's scared too?" he probed gently.

"Yes …," Tom breathed, a small smile forming on his face now.

"I think, like most things, Tom … you will handle this with your intuition, that gut instinct of yours has taken you far and wide – _and as I've told you before_ – you must trust it …," he advised. "Trust yourself … and what **you** might also want – _dreams and island getaways aside_ – you may feel yourself at an impasse here … but perhaps in part, that's because you already **know** what you want …," Russ intuited eloquently.

Tom froze. "I do …," he admitted candidly then.

Russ nodded. "And if you're scared … or unsure – _it's only because you_ ** _care_** _about the outcome of the decisions you make on the behalf of others_ – and it's this innate ability that makes you such a worthy sea Captain …," he went on, his eyes liquid black, his voice smooth and calm. Tom nodded in assent. "Trust yourself, Tom – _and your children will watch you just like your crew_ – and know that everything will be all right," he surmised.

And just like that Tom believed that things would, evolve to be so. "Thank you, Russ …," he sighed. "Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words?" he wondered with a smirk.

"All the time, my friend," Russ smiled broadly, his endless eyes bouncing now.

 _###_

 _Lafayette Square turned out to be everything the boys said it was – a refurbished old neighborhood, about three miles west of the coast, a plan for an urban renewal community. Half of the construction was completed around the old park with the ground cleared and ready for the balance of what was meant to be an idyllic, gated community of townhomes._

 _The model homes were completed and it was here that Mike had focused the team's energy on securing the space. The homes were close enough to the gate where some extra assurances would be needed, such as an additional boundary or retaining wall, but promising none-the-less. The added bonus of securing the model homes was that they were furnished and hadn't belonged to private citizens. This fact alone facilitated an easier occupation – knowing they wouldn't be uprooting anyone, that no one would be returning home – and that no one had been sick with the virus within._

 _These homes were quite literally … a preserved idea of the quintessential American life._

 _Presently they stood on the walkway just outside the homes, of which there were eight. Mike on his left, Green on his right – Burk, Cruz and Miller securing the area once again, where Tom noted an Army convoy set up along the far perimeter, an outpost of sorts._

"So essentially these homes are in move-in condition …," Tom said eventually.

"Yes, Sir … Michener figures we could make it work for the core team, with some roommate situations …," Mike stipulated.

Tom grinned and glanced at Green. "I presume you and Foster are ready to move in together," he teased.

Green's face turned as red as a tomato, but he smiled all the same and answered, "Yes, Sir."

"Would you like to take a closer look? We had engineering come over and reinstall all the locks," Mike informed him then.

Tom exhaled into the fresh air, a gust of wind whipping up, pushing against his back. "Yes," he nodded in assent and therein the three of them made their way up the path to the townhome situated in the center of the long, connected row of homes.

Once inside, silence encapsulated them. The furnishings and appliances were new and modern … sleek, with slender lines. The paint was bright and welcoming, this unit decorated with hues of ecru, spring green and brown accents.

"Each one of these units has three to four bedrooms depending on the model," Mike said then, walking toward the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the space. "The kitchens all face the park, with a two-car garage taking up the bottom square footage, the entrances located around the back of each property," he went on.

Tom inhaled, the essence of new paint and air freshener filling his lungs as he walked to the foot of the steps leading to the third floor. "All of the bedrooms are located upstairs?" he wondered aloud.

"No … not with this model, actually, there's a master suite down here," Green pointed before heading down a short hallway.

 _Tom followed Danny, stopping just outside the French doors at the end of the hall … his heart stilled as he lingered there … on the precipice of the idea of coming home to such a space without Darien … or with … Rachel._

 _He sighed and reluctantly stepped into the sanctuary – the room meant as such – an escape with painstaking time spent by the designer to scream and shout at perspective buyers: 'You want this life! This life could be yours!'_

"Sir, everything all right?" Green asked of him then, his eyes vacillating.

"Yes …," Tom lied and steadied himself against a large built-in bookshelf, his eyes landing on the perfectly made bed: _the focal point of the room._ "Can you give me a minute?" he asked of him then.

Green's face softened. "Yes, Sir," he nodded in assent before he made to leave, pausing at the door where he turned around. _"Permission to speak freely, Sir,"_ he said then.

Tom turned to face him. "Always," he nodded curtly.

"I know … I feel like I should say that I acknowledge how hard this must be for you, without your wife …," Green whispered quickly.

"That it is," Tom agreed; he exhaled, seeking relief from the stress.

"But for what it's worth … the way I think about it is – _that my loved ones, my family that didn't make it_ – wouldn't want me to look back and over my shoulder all time… at everything we lost …," he sighed heavily and then shook his head. "Quite frankly …," he began again. "The only thing that's made sense since any of this started was the idea of moving beyond it all … to reach some other destination where we could get off of the James and stop running … stop chasing … and fighting," he reasoned aloud. "And I think this could be a start … a new Norfolk, Sir …," he surmised evenly.

Tom smiled. "You've always been a superb strategist, Danny," he complimented. And then he smiled. "You remind me of my father, he's a planner like you are …," he admired.

 _Green smiled and then exited the room. And left alone with his own thoughts, Tom exhaled and let his eyes wander around the retreat, seeing the space now without regret for what would never be again … but with renewed hope instead._

 _###_

Exiting the townhome, Tom exhaled and let the balance of his stresses decompress. Standing just outside on the porch, he scanned the expansive horizon wherein he saw the developer's vision come to life. It was subtle, but it was there … a glimmer of something … a dream that once was the American dream.

The way the sunlight cascaded through the mature tree branches high in the sky and somehow framed the historical square, preserving it for a new generation. And indeed the way the trees moved in the wind – _forever softening this central focus of the neighborhood_ – a small space carved out from the city … the community, in and of itself, meant to become a retreat.

"It's a go for me, if it is for you, gentlemen," he said then, his eyes fixed and steady on the future.

" _We'll bring Michener out then,"_ Mike replied. _"He's going to take up residence at the hotel, but had requested to come out here once a decision was made,"_ he reported.

" _CIC to Vulture Team,"_ came Foster's voice from their comm. devices then.

Tom engaged his device, "Roger that, CIC this is Vulture Team."

" _Captain, we've found some coordinates on Flora Island … and something came up,"_ she reported then.

"Go on," Tom replied.

" _We encountered some initial troubles, Sir … … it turns out this island is managed by a European company and it uses an alias to keep its location private as its mainly utilized as a remote 'castaway' resort of sorts,"_ she reported.

"So it's a vacation destination …," he wondered aloud.

" _Yes, Sir … its actually a small island located along the tip of the Palawan Islands, about four-hundred and fifty nautical miles south of Manila,"_ she reported. _"And Sir …,"_ her voice trailed off for a beat.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Tom prompted, turning to Slattery and Green.

" _It's a veritable hot spot,"_ she deemed. _"We've heard enough chatter on the line to confirm … the local people are under siege, Sir,"_ she reported evenly.

"How many people are we taking about? How bad is it?" Slattery interjected then, his eyes intense.

" _We're not sure, Sir,"_ she admitted. _"We're still trying to get some updated imagery, but it seems as though they're barely holding their own – and even more important – from what we can discern … they were somehow a natural safe zone from the virus,"_ she added quickly.

"I didn't think that was possible," Tom replied into his device.

" _Neither did we … now_ ** _scientifically_** , _we have to confirm these findings with Dr. Scott … but we're thinking it's the wind patterns, Sir … they all but circumnavigated the tiny island for months, even with the heat –"_

"Well, how about that?" Tom wondered. "I gather people got the idea to flee there … good or bad," he surmised then. "Sounds like El Toro all over again," he surmised.

" _Yes, Sir and from what we can tell … the employees of the island, along with its small populace of indigenous people are barely holding their own against enemy combatants and hostiles now –"_

"Every man for himself," Slattery muttered.

" _Exactly,"_ she concurred.

"Good work, lieutenant – _drop everything you have on my devices and let's keep an eye on this_ – seems as though we may need to get out there and get these people some relief …," he declared. "And unlike with Nicaragua, we **are** in the _'nation building business'_ now," he thought aloud, a tight smile on his face as he made eye contact with both Slattery and Green.

 _Foster signed off and Tom toggled his comm. device, his thoughts circulating around the idea of Flora Island becoming more significant than personal whim. Exhaling, he thought of Rachel, vacationing on this tiny 'deserted' island as a child. He nodded again in assent to Slattery and Green and paced along the small porch for a beat, already wondering how on earth they would plan a multi-service operation such as this … and then his tactical prodigy, Green, spoke up._

"I'll call down to Scott Air Force base and inform them we may need transport … I'm thinking a Huron or a Gulfstream might do the trick,with a mid-flight refuel from a KC-46," he reported in.

 _###_

Having changed into street clothes, Tom sat comfortably in the lobby and waited for his father, Tex and the kids to return from the local park, deciding that a quick family style lunch was in order after the debrief with Michener. Where the new President gave them the go-ahead to formulate a plan for a military and humanitarian aid mission for _'Flora'_ and the greater Palawan Islands.

He sighed with satisfaction now, having just checked in with Rose, he was happy to hear Rachel was resting comfortably in her room after having her stitches removed before another ( _according to Rose_ ): ' _long and tedious, meeting with Dr. Milowsky.'_

Without thinking, Tom reached for his tablet, entered his barrage of passcodes and clicked on the satellite images of the Palawan Islands before he zeroed in on the coordinates Lieutenant Foster designated for _'Flora Island'_.

 _And it was here that he paused over an aerial view of the bean-shaped island – white, perfect sand that surrounded a lush tropical rain forest – the ocean, blue and green … calm and peaceful … he could see why people would want to escape there, for from this viewpoint especially, it looked uninhabited. It looked like an unforeseen dream come true. Spreading his fingers along the touch screen, he tapped the center of the island and zoomed in, the satellite software triangulated a bird's eye view and then another as if he were standing along the shoreline … the endless, pixilated sea before him now._

Tom sighed and shook his head – _stock images from his jaunt in Nicaragua filled his mind now_ – along with the survivalist attitude of the people there and the demonic view of the self-made chief-lord … their actions all driven by panic and fear, just as Rachel predicted from the very beginning … when she fought to requisition the Nathan James in the first place.

And therein, after everything they'd been through and in the name of everything Michener stood for now … Tom knew the man was right … this **was** their fight too – _for this island represented the earth, preserved_ – before the virus took hold and ravaged everything they all held so dear.

 _###_

 _Lunch concluded and Tom slipped out to check in with Michener. Once the team could confer with Dr. Scott and determine the validity of their assumptions – that this tiny island was indeed untouched by the virus – and was fighting against impurities every moment of every day … they would push off, which meant that within twenty-four hour's time, they set in motion one of the most meaningful humanitarian missions of their country's history._

He entered the lobby now where Ashley approached him, a wide smile on her face. His heart stilled on her more relaxed attitude and therein, he faltered slightly at the thought of leaving her and Sam again. "Can you stay for a round or two of Scrabble?" she asked of him, her eyes bouncing.

"I'm afraid I can't, Ash ... Mike and I have to get to the hospital and meet with Dr. Scott," he said softly, draping his arm around her, drawing her near as she innately slipped into his embrace where they watched the scene before them. He sighed. "Sam looks happy," he smiled and looked down at her.

"He is, Dad," she said, also smiling. "And so am I," she assured him in her own grown up way.

"I can tell," he agreed, once again seeing how the darkness in her eyes had become lighter and lighter since their arrival here in St. Louis.

"And so are you …," she declared, a fierce intensity in her eyes now. "Especially since Dr. Scott woke up," she added thoughtfully.

Tom exhaled, his heart pinched, pummeling him with a barrage of emotions. "I am …," he finally answered.

 _The pair stood together for a long moment then – Ashley snickering as she watched Sam try to sneak extra letters from the Scrabble bag – Kathleen's bright eyes, fixed on her father's while Jed sat by and watched the group, doting from afar, his keen eyes watching everything all at once._

" _Dad …,"_ Ashley whispered after another minute. Tom looked down and found her eyes. "Do you … like Dr. Scott more than a friend?" she wondered.

Tom pressed his lips together and held himself together. "I would be a liar if I said _'no'_ … I care about her, a great deal …," he exhaled on the truth.

Ashley sighed. "And honesty is the best policy …," she answered with a small smile.

"Always … sweet girl," he answered, marveling at his lovely daughter … for never in his life would he have imagined they would be standing here, having a moment like this with her. "May I admire you Ashley Chandler?" he asked of her then.

Ashley smiled and stood taller, "You may."

Tom chuckled. "I'm super proud of you … do you know that?" he prompted.

Ashley smiled. "I do know, Dad," she answered. "And I think … it's all going to be all right … now we're all going to be all right …," she articulated.

"So do I," he replied, easing into his acknowledgment now.

"Does Dr. Scott … _Rachel_ … like you too?" she probed curiously with a tiny smile.

"She does …," he breathed and therein he watched a broader smile cascade along his daughter's pretty face.

 _###_

"I can't believe it," Rachel said excitedly, peering down at the monitor, flanked by Tom and Mike. "I never thought it possible – _that any populace would be spared_ – though I'm not quite sure what good its done them now," she breathed, her green eyes teeming with energy even against the dull fluorescent lights.

Tom smiled at her and shook his head. "Nothing gets you excited like a scientific conundrum," he smirked.

Rachel chortled. "Well, if I had a retort handy, it would involve something about you and the pig-headed way you chase lunatics and nuclear submarines," she chided gently.

Mike snorted. "Damn the two of you and your influence on me! Especially you," he turned around and pointed to Rachel. "You've turned me into a want-a-be virologist … or something close to it," he smirked.

 _The three trusted friends shared a laugh, Tom's keen eyes fixed on Rachel's wherein he once again realized how enthralled he was by her intellectual prowess and the intensity of her eyes, something he recognized and appreciated now as he_ ** _knew_** _her mind was at work … calculating and recalculating … searching … reaching for the conclusions that evaded everyone else. He sighed and shook his head, privately marveling at her._

 _Watching her still, he saw her wince slightly as she gingerly sat down at the table across from him wherein he wondered how much pain she was in following the removal of her stitches … once again hit with the harsh reality of how how fragile she still seemed to be. She held his gaze and smiled and he knew she was trying to tell him without words, 'I'm all right,' wherein he winked at her in response … because he knew she really was._

"The thing I keep going back to is … what if we're too late?" Mike interjected then. "Do we have any doses of the original cure left?" he wondered. "How do we exactly immunize the survivors, **if** there are any left to vaccinate?" he went on.

Rachel sighed heavily. "That is the true question of the day," she agreed. "The doses of the original cure are limited and we can most definitely use them as a prototype to make more now that we can build a lab, but … I fear we don't have time for that," she reasoned. "In fact, I know we don't," she added.

"So, if sick people who haven't been infected with the contagious cure yet are desperately trying to make landfall there … **every** day … what can we do to keep the populace safe?" Tom wondered. "How on earth can we keep interlopers away from this island that will **only** remain a safe zone if no one infected ever makes landfall?" he thought aloud.

 _And with that question hanging in the air, Rachel stood abruptly and began to pace where she stopped after a moment. Turning on her heel, she headed for a small stack of art on the credenza there – she picked the drawings up and smiled – her eyes darting along the art made for her by Ashley and Sam and Kathleen. Whimsical drawings of fairies and the Nathan James and sunrises and sunsets. Drawings that projected visions of hope and peace. Page after page she turned the drawings over until she found what she was looking for … the scene of island paradise drawn for her by Kathleen. She flipped it around and held it up for Tom, shocking him with the intensity of her stare._

"We go … … and we take them with us," she whispered, her eyes moving between Tom and Mike now.

"We take who with us?" Mike wondered.

Rachel smiled and held Tom's gaze. "The children … and your father," she breathed.

"The booster … …," Tom muttered, quite mystified now. "They all had a dose of the original cure," he smiled.

"I'll be damned," Mike huffed. "That's it!" he deemed, a smile reaching his eyes. "We go in, secure the area – _then we bring the kids, give them the boosters_ – and the rest –"

"Is history …," Tom sighed.

 _###_

Tom sat on the armchair in the corner of Rachel's room and waited for her to finish up in the washroom. He exhaled and watched the last of the sunlight disappear from the small space. _'What a day,'_ was all he could think. The door opened and she emerged, the light behind her illuminating her petite silhouette such that she looked like an angel before him. He stood and smiled and she flipped the switch off, walking toward him in the relative darkness. She held a small tube of ointment.

"Can you put this on my clavicle, along the exit wound?" she asked of him. She smiled. "I can't reach it," she elaborated.

"Sure …," he answered. She held his gaze for a beat before she turned around. She unbuttoned her shirt in the front and he pushed the loose fabric down and over her shoulder cap; her skin was soft and she smelled of soap and toothpaste. "How much should I use?" he asked of her, his eyes fixed upon the scar along her clavicle, about two inches in length.

"Enough to cover it," she instructed. "I want to let it breathe a little tonight … I'll have Rose dress it before I fall asleep later," she elaborated.

Tom sighed and squeezed some of the antibiotic ointment from the tube and handed it back to Rachel over her good shoulder. "Let me know if this hurts at all," he said as he gently began to smooth the ointment over the closed wound.

 _Sighing in tandem with Rachel, feeling the slight groove of the needlework under the pads of his fingertips, he imagined the scar tissue healing under his lithe touch. He breathed, in and out – frowning somewhere inside before fumed protectively – for he was still angry about the shooting. Inhaling, he drew her near and eased into a comfortable stance as Rachel leaned back and into him. He set his chin upon her crown and breathed her in, noticing her hair was softer now and smelled less of antiseptic and more like flowers or fruit._

" _Do you think it's really Flora Island?"_ Rachel asked of him then … her voice as quiet as a child's.

"Yes … though that's not its real name … it's sold as a sanctuary," he sighed, relaxing into the heat of her body against his. "It was a hidden island where people would pay top dollar for their privacy … like being a castaway …," he explained.

" _And you … … you just wanted to see the island originally?"_ she asked of him. _"For your own eyes … you wanted to see where we were in my dream?"_ she went on.

"I did …," he admitted candidly. "I still do, Rachel," he whispered.

" _I want to come with you on this mission … and I don't want to hear that I can't,"_ she said quickly into their confessional then.

Tom smiled into himself. "I know … and you won't …," he answered, finishing up, his fingertips lingering along her shoulder cap where he held her close for a beat longer.

She turned to face him, her all-seeing eyes dancing now. "Really?" she whispered, slipping her left hand into his.

"Really …," he smiled, gently pushing her flyaway tendrils away from angular face, lacing his fingers through hers now. "As long as you agree – _we secure the island first_ – we'll arrange for a safe house somewhere on a cooperative base in Manila or Indonesia for you to wait with my father and the kids … and then we'll rendezvous when it's safe," he said, relaying the shell of his plan.

"And when do we leave?" she asked, wincing slightly as she turned out of his arms and set the tube on her night table before she sat on her bed with some effort.

"Within the next thirty-six hours, if you're up to it … it's not exactly the recovery your doctors had in mind," he chortled, stepping closer to her where he noticed she suddenly looked fatigued. "You all right?" he prompted.

"Yes … better than all right," she smiled. "Just feeling a bit tired tonight … and I'll be all right, I promise, I won't do anything risky," she smiled. "I'll be on my best behavior, Captain," she teased.

Tom chuckled. "I know … I trust that you will," he conceded, for what other choice did he have, he knew there would be no mission without her. "It's been a long day," he added, setting his palms on her knees.

"Yes … but a good one," she smiled; her cheeks blushing before his eyes. "And you? How are you?" she whispered, raising her left hand, she set her palm on his chest, his heart went nuts.

"I'm all right … big day all around, for everyone," he smiled. "Before we stumbled upon the island, the convoy took me out to those model homes we spoke about –"

"And?" she wondered.

"They're perfect … ideal actually," he smiled, his earlier insecurities mitigated now by openly discussing the space with Rachel.

"Will you tell me about it?" she requested and then promptly yawned. The pair laughed in tandem. "Don't leave …," she insisted urgently then, foretelling that he'd make ready to go once she was sleepy. "Not yet … anyway, I want to hear more …," she whispered intimately, setting her hand on his forearm.

"I'll do even better … scooch a little …," he smiled, slipping his shoes off before he sat down next to her and swung his legs up and lay back against the pillows with her. "Nice view," he laughed softly, his eyes dancing with hers now. "I feel oddly proud of you … you know …," he admitted then, turning his head toward hers.

Rachel slipped her hand into his. "You do?" she wondered, leaning into his heat.

"I do …," he whispered, closing the small distance between them now, her hot, minty breath fanning his face … so close now he could almost kiss her.

"Don't …," she whispered suddenly, closing her eyes tight. "Not here," she breathed, pleading with him; she opened her eyes again.

Tom smiled; his heart racing from their proximity alone. "No?" he husked into their shared space.

Rachel shook her head. "No … not in this room …," she appealed. "Not with … everything …," she whispered urgently, taking his hand in hers, she searched his eyes frantically. "The coma … and all the waiting you did for me … I want to Tom, **really** … I want … **you** , I just … … … let's –"

"Hey, hey … I want what you want, remember?" he cut her off, raising her chin with his fingertips now. "I want **you** , Rachel …," he whispered. "And this, our thing … everything …," he whispered thickly then, his glassy eyes fixed on her gateways … endless and sparkling in the semi-darkness.

"All right ...," she smiled, tilting her head.

"Hmm … I know you better than you think I do ….," he said, turning further into her. He set his free hand along her soft, blushed cheek where untamed heat radiated against his palm. "I know you want to be _'you'_ again … before there's an _'us'_ …," he smiled wherein he watched a tiny set of tears form and slip down her face.

"Maybe, _yes_ … I do …," she sighed, relaxing into his heat.

"And you're getting there …," he sighed with a small smile. "We're getting there …," he added.

"We are …," she deemed thoughtfully. "I'm almost out of here … and then – _as crazy as it sounds_ – and as messy as it might be when we get there … we'll be on that island together …," she sighed hopefully, shaking her head, her eyes as gorgeous as he'd ever seen them.

"Yes, we will," Tom sighed with a reflective smile.

"I can't hardly believe it … just the thought of it all … of saving those people …," she whispered, shaking her head with wonder. "It's a dream – _in so many ways –_ it's as if we've been given a second chance to beat the virus all over again …," she smiled.

"A new dream in the making …," he agreed, his eyes steady and clear, full of hope and wonder as he stared at her now.

 _Where he took her hand in his and marveled once again at her capacity for healing … for seeking out and fighting for the disenfranchised … her innate desire to save the lives of strangers – and there inside that moment – Tom smiled broadly and then somewhere deep inside an even more finite split second, he realized he'd fallen for Rachel Scott all over again._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 8**

Rachel scanned the barren hospital room, her eyes landing on the organized stacks of boxes, computer equipment and personal belongings that now lined the far corner of the space after Bertrise had come over to help her the day before. _Her life, her personal belongings and her life's work …_ _all labeled_ _and ready for transport._ Sighing, she glanced at the clock and paced, wringing her hands together impatiently, for she hated any kind of holding pattern. And this – _waiting for Rose to finish her discharge paperwork along with Tom's pending arrival_ – it was enough to make her feel a bit stir crazy … well, that and this slippery slope of seemingly unearthed emotions that she'd been avoiding now since Kara's departure not too long ago.

Sighing with frustration and the need for distraction, she reluctantly sat down at the work table and began pouring over the latest models for the contagious cure, marveling still at the discovery of not only one, but _three_ small inlets situated in the middle Philippines Islands that happened to be natural safe zones from the virus. For after a deeper analysis of the world at large, she had discovered that the three tropical islands along with a single narrow strip of land in the Arctic appeared to be the **only** zones on the globe that were untouched by the virus, the latter being of no consequence as it was uninhabitable due to frigid year-round temperatures.

Armed with the knowledge of the additional Philippines Islands, the team's broader mission had been expanded to include those areas, though intelligence had proved they were not under siege akin to _'Flora Island'_ and therefore presented little or no risk to the safety of the nearby surviving populaces. As such, the humanitarian mission of spreading the cure would centralize around _'Flora Island'_ first and then branch out by strategically relocating persons _'infected'_ with the contagious cure to those neighboring islands where the antidote would spread at an appropriate exponential rate.

 _On paper, it all seemed relatively simple. But Rachel still feared the worst … the dropping of the quintessential other shoe. And as such, she had gotten very little sleep since the discovery of the island was made. Her restlessness, in large part due to her lingering uneasiness about Nicaragua and the dangers the team encountered on that perilous mission all of those months ago._

 _Her heart sank and she allowed herself to ponder the outcome of her nightmare – the one where Tom didn't make it off the island alive – though now, admittedly her desperation in wanting him to emerge again unharmed, had little to do with saving the world and more to do with saving her heart's desires._

Heat and nervous energy surged through her then. Standing, she pushed the sleeves of her cable-knit sweater up to her elbows and unbuttoned the top as she turned to face the window. Exhaling, she stared through the ghost of her reflection there, taking shallow breaths, _in, out_ , _in, out_ , in an attempt to subdue her racing mind, doing her best now to ignore the similarities between the two missions: hostage situations, insurgents acting out of fear, archaic oppression, Draconian punishments, unbridled violence, fear, panic and the struggle for power … classic good versus evil.

 _And it was here that she paused again as her panic mounted. The worries that confounded her so – seeping into her biometrics now – her heart racing, her throat tightening, her body reactive, her mind wild._

 _She swallowed hard and briefly pondered the idea of the woman she'd suddenly become … the one who's heart was vulnerable … the one who felt tattered and torn by her emotions. This version of herself where she was just a woman – a woman –not scientist with research to hide behind. Just a woman grappling with her nonsensical feelings and desires for more … with a man she'd come to adore. A woman dealing with intense worry over her would-be lover's family and their safety … for they too, were at risk when it came to this mission._

Shaking her head, her thoughts migrated once again to Kara and the conversation they had earlier when she stopped by following her ultrasound appointment. Rachel smiled, thinking now of the sailor's rounder, fuller face … her healthy glow akin to a ray of sunshine. Sighing, she marveled at what they had become to one another – _labels and titles and images aside_ – they had become women and somehow evolved to be on the same plane of existence: sensitive, caring, thoughtful, strong … _women._

 _###_

" _You know, every time I leave Dr. Lawrence's office … I think of Garnett," Kara admitted into the quiet room where she stood at the bookcase, the copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" in her hands._

 _Rachel stood at the bathroom doorway with her toiletries in hand. She nodded in assent, a twinge of regret claiming her as she thought about Andrea Garnett and the loss of her family … of her_ ** _daughter_** _in particular, to the virus. "I can't imagine … I mean, I_ ** _can_** _… we've seen enough – we know the losses have been catastrophic – but a child … I marvel at her strength …," Rachel sighed. "At Slattery's too," she added thoughtfully._

" _Me too ...," Kara whispered, setting the book inside a nearby box. Her free hand landing on her belly, low and thoughtful … her casual yoga pants and shirt accentuating her burgeoning baby. Small unruly tears sprang from her eyes then, but she did nothing to stop them. Rachel walked around the bed and sat on its edge. "I'm okay," the young woman laughed through her tears. Rachel smiled. "I am," she insisted, pulling a tissue from the box on the bedside table. She tended to her nose, her dark, happier eyes suddenly clouded with doubt and fear._

" _Hormones," Rachel muttered, tilting her head._

" _The worst," Kara admitted sheepishly._

 _Rachel smiled. "I'm afraid there isn't much to be done about pregnancy hormones," she offered practically._

" _No," Kara exhaled, pressing her lips together. She reached down and pulled the copy of "The Mechanics of Crop-Dusting" from the shelf, her mouth screwed up with a grin._

" _The Captain's," Rachel answered with a grin of her own. "A scientist in the making now," she smiled, both women laughed._

 _Sighing, Kara added the book to the box. "It's more than that though, I think … right now anyway … it's more than hormones," she pondered aloud._

" _Hmm … well, there is a lot going on – especially for you and your work and our imminent mission – for all of us on this side of the fight …," Rachel sighed, her thoughts turning to the mission, the stakes and the unrest that confounded the world around them._

" _But that's just it … what has me so turned around," Kara interjected then._

" _How so?" Rachel prompted evenly._

" _I'm not going on this mission," Kara declared then. Rachel exhaled and nodded in assent, recognizing the sailor's defeat. "And I'd be a liar if I said I didn't have mixed feelings about that," she explained, her tougher exterior falling away._

" _I wish there was something I could say, but I fear the worst sometimes so –"_

" _Now I understand," Kara interrupted, perching herself on the edge of the bed, her eyes narrowing … searching Rachel's for answers. "Can I tell you something I haven't told anyone, not even Danny?" she whispered._

" _Of course …," Rachel answered._

" _I just … now I … really get it," she declared evenly. "I never thought I'd be this person, this_ ** _woman_** _– as a sailor and a woman – I see now how Danny and I tempted fate … by our … indiscretions …," she smiled ruefully, shaking her head. She set her hand along her belly, caressing her baby there. A curtain of tears sprang from her eyes. Inhaling, she went on. "I just … I get it – the need for the no fraternization rule – it simplifies relationships and attachments and yet, it somehow makes them more meaningful … because … …," her voice trailed off._

 _Rachel sighed. "It does seem to do that … yes …," Rachel encouraged; she handed Kara another tissue, her mind on Tom … and his children … and the mission, the simplicity, gone … the attachment, sealed by fate._

" _I would do anything for my shipmates …_ ** _anything_** _to protect them … and now … I … I don't know … …," she shook her head. "Before the showdown with Ramsey's sub … … I swear, I could barely walk away from Danny … barely make myself turn around," she said with haste, her eyes still searching Rachel's._

" _I understand …," Rachel empathized with a weak smile, her thoughts migrating to her own insecurities._

 _Kara ran her fingertips along her cheeks. "I … I could barely breathe … barely think of what a moment alone with this baby would be like without him," she confessed quickly. "It's tearing me apart …_ ** _motherhood_** _– I'm different now, everything's changed –_ ** _everything_** _around us is such a mess and yet … … I have_ ** _this_** _," she whispered desperately, her hands set protectively along her belly again. "_ ** _We_** _… have this beautiful thing," she declared._

 _Rachel's heart shimmied somewhere low and deep, tugging at her muscle wherein a dull ache formed … one she could only attribute to Tom and what falling for him had done to her thus far. Wondrous, intimidating, beautiful … love. She blinked hastily, forcing her waiting tears into recession as she thought about how to articulate her feelings._

" _If it's any consolation …," she sighed after another moment. "I've been struggling with my own feelings a great deal lately," she divulged. "Of course, I find myself in uncharted territory – I've steered clear of forming bonded relationships for most of my adult life and even more of my childhood – but with … … Tom …," she exhaled on his name. Kara stared at her still, her dark eyes wide with hope. "With him … as strange as it sounds and as difficult as the circumstances have been … it all feels quite natural …," she breathed as the heat of embarrassment claimed her cheeks: hot and pink. "And what might have been a slow evolution for us – years upon years in the making – has somehow become the stuff of life and death … and survival …," she admitted frankly._

 _Eyes still fixed on Kara's, she breathed then, her heart in shambles now … though she felt relieved to have admitted what she'd come to realize for a while now: that she somehow needed Tom, this man … as a woman, she needed him._

" _You've fallen for him …," Kara declared softly then … not a question, but a statement of sorts._

" _I have … as scary as that is … I have," Rachel admitted wholeheartedly._

" _And he feels the same?" Kara ventured carefully without judgment._

 _Rachel nodded in assent. "He does …," she whispered, her eyes pinned to Kara's._

" _Life and death … …," Kara breathed. "You've saved one another quite a bit since you met … bonded and connected – you really_ ** _are_** _shipmates – and have evolved into more, doing anything to protect one another …," she marveled quietly. "Protocols and love make us do crazy things, I've learned that much …," she pondered and tilted her head._

" _Yes … they do…," Rachel agreed._

" _Everything is so … … tipped on it's side, isn't it?" Kara wondered then. "Babies and love and viruses and civil unrest – nine months ago everything was so simple – follow the rules and no gets hurt … follow the protocols … and everyone does their part …," she shook her head._

" _Everything was how it was before – and we were what we were – we wore those labels well: a sailor and a scientist … all by the book …," Rachel articulated aloud._

" _And now …," Kara smiled._

" _It would seem we're a whole lot more to a great many more people … and to some … we might mean …_ ** _everything_** _… as scary as that may sound," Rachel deemed thoughtfully; her heart raced._

" _It's nice to talk to you, like this …," Kara said then with a small smile, her happiness more evident again_

" _Like what?" Rachel wondered._

" _Woman to woman," Kara smiled._

" _What? Instead of crazy, misunderstood scientist?" Rachel smirked._

 _Kara chuckled. "Something like that …," she sighed, her eyes vacillating over the bookcase in front of them._

 _Rachel paused, ruminating over the months of their collective journey, her gaze following Kara's. Everything was quiet for a long moment … eyes forward, books waiting to be packed … but neither woman moved._

" _You know … … I was lonely back then, so alone in this fight …," Rachel said after another moment. "When this mission began … … I was so happy just to have gotten the Nathan James in the first place …," she navigated carefully. "And … I was aware of how difficult the terms of this mission would come to be – and I really did think of all of you, the sailors on the ship – I know it seems as though I didn't … but still, I'm sorry … still_ ** _so_** _sorry for the secrecy of it all –"_

" _I should stop you here," Kara interrupted, turning her attention back to Rachel. "I admire you so much – for fighting the way you did for something you believed in – you're so strong … so capable and fearless, I've never met anyone like you …," she marveled. "And now, aside from losing the people we lost along the way of course – even after everything – I'm not sure I'd want it any different …," she sighed._

" _No?" Rachel wondered, mulling over her own circumstances … her own higher stakes now._

" _No …," Kara shook her head. "Because there was no way around this virus until it met its match in you … and the Captain … and the crew of the Nathan James … a trifecta, a force of its own making," she breathed. "Call it fate … or destiny – somehow or another – I think this is where we were meant to end up …," she sighed with a resigned smile._

" _Conflicted women?" Rachel smirked._

 _Kara laughed. "Conflicted women," she determined, nodding her head._

 _###_

Rachel turned from the window at the sound of a cursory knock at the door. Rose entered the room. "The last doctor's signature for your discharge has been obtained, now we just need yours and you'll be out of here …," she said with a warm smile. She set the hefty file down at the table and pulled a chair out. Rachel smiled in tandem and came to sit next to her. "Just make your way through and sign away at the yellow tabs," she instructed with her same smile. Rachel opened the file and began to sign. "The last page there outlines your visit with Dr. Lawrence this morning, I trust you got what you needed from her?" she inquired.

"Yes … a script for an extended-cycle pill, she said she would fill it for me," Rachel replied without looking up, her mind quickly moving over the practicality of her visit with Dr. Lawrence, her heart raced, _'Tom'_ , she whispered into herself and smiled.

"I'll have it ready for you before you take off," Rose answered.

"And then … that's it?" Rachel smirked, making a sidelong glance at Rose as turned another page of the file.

"Well, that's it officially, for you … in this room," Rose snorted. "But I expect to see you again, Rachel …," she sighed, tilting her head.

 _Rachel sighed, her eyes moving over her chart as she signed in all the designated places, her shoulder radiating with residual pain as trigger words darted out at her – gunshot, exit wounds, surgery, swelling, contusions, comatose, prognosis, recovery, treatment – she blinked, craning her neck up and back._

"Not to worry, Rose," Rachel finally said. "You can't get rid of me that easily," she added, turning to the older woman. Reaching over she set her hand upon Rose's. "But I think you know that," she smiled.

"Oh, I do … perhaps you can visit me when you have physical therapy updates …," she thought aloud.

"Yes, absolutely … and **outside** of this blessed place too …," Rachel sighed with a weak smile.

 _She sighed, skillfully ignoring the slight sense of unease that had encapsulated her just then. She felt her smile falter as she wondered about making plans for the future like that – so matter of fact, so complacent – for it was a lot like 'Be safe' … her stomach twisted. Tom's hesitant voice filled her mind and she thought of him in the hallway that night at the hotel, just over a month ago. She thought of him ... and sighed heavily._

Ever astute, Rose was on her immediately. "What has you worried, Rachel?" she probed gently. "If it's about your health – _you're going to be fine_ – sure I know you don't feel so confident at the moment, but you'll see … you'll be just fine, you'll all return back here after your mission and have a chance at a real recovery …," she assured.

 _Rachel signed the last document, the one that outlined her physical therapy exercises and the care and cleaning of her wounds. She shook her head, closed the file and stood. Pacing, she spoke hurriedly with one eye on the door._

"I know you're correct, Rose … and as a doctor, I feel confident in my recovery," she reasoned. And then she laughed aloud and her heart skipped a beat. "It's everything else in my life that feels so chaotic!" she heaved, darting along her circuit. "Even just then … talking of making plans to see you again or scheduling a visit with Dr. Lawrence this morning – _talking of the future as if it's_ ** _guaranteed_** – when it's not!" she heaved. "It's not a reasonable assumption … not anymore!" she blurted out, turning on her heel.

Rose smiled. "I see."

"And it's more than this mission," she turned again. "It's **life** and life **choices** – _to take a plunge_ – to finally **do** something! To finally **be** something to someone … more than just a scientist –"

Rose stood, intercepted Rachel's circuit and set her hands upon her shoulders. "Hey, now you look at me," she smiled, eye-to-eye.

"What?" Rachel heaved breathlessly, her eyes searching for answers.

"You can do this," Rose assured. "It doesn't matter if you've always held yourself back …," she reasoned. "You can make something with Tom … **_outside_** of this room …," she insisted, getting right the root of her argument. Rachel stared at her still. "You're capable of making the life you both deserve … and no amount of running away from how you feel is going to change that …," she smiled on her truth. "Destiny has spoken, Rachel … and you should heed its call …," she counseled as seriously as she would as if it were sound medical advice.

"I'm anxious … worried … I hardly know what to do with myself," Rachel explained; twisting her hands together in an effort to do something with herself.

"Yes … and that's the point, I suppose," Rose smiled, taking a step back. "Life can be scary… even for someone like you who's spent a lifetime being fearless," she smirked. Rachel laughed weakly. "Trust me … I **know** what I'm talking about …," she confessed. "See … people like you and me … we've always done whatever we wanted …," she went on. "For my part … I've **always** lived in the present – _never fretting as my friends did about growing old or regretting the mistakes we all made_ – much like you I never felt … _scared_ of life …," she confessed. "Until now … until this virus claimed every person I ever loved – _and so now I get it more than ever_ – life **is** vulnerable and you're right, our futures are **not** guaranteed … even if you're fearless …," she surmised evenly.

"It's all so taxing …," Rachel agreed softly, her mind a royal mess now. She walked to the window, the sun was high in the sky.

Rose came to stand next to her. "Yes … it is … but I've learned it's okay to be scared or uncertain …," she confided. "And I know as scientist – _it's the uncertainty that can both derail and consume you_ – but this is the truth of life and what's made of, especially now … and the fear of the unknown is meant to be all right some of the time, I suppose," she went on. "Particularly if it pushes us to dig deeper and to live more fully in the present, for in today's world, we have no choice …," she said fervently.

Rachel huffed, her eyes pinned the trees as they danced the wind. "Intellectually, I **know** you're right … I know I need to live more fully … and I want to …," she began. "And when I … … … **look** at Tom, when I really see him … I know no safer place … and yet … …," she breathed, her eyes on the horizon as she tried to find her voice … until there was nothing left to say.

"You're letting fear win, my dear …," Rose asserted after a moment.

"Yes …," Rachel admitted, shaking her head; her heart raced. "Yes … and now I'm petrified to even wonder what life might be like without him …," she confessed urgently, her coveted the fear laid out before her now. "It's the dropping of the other shoe, it haunts me … it always has …," she reasoned, turning to her confidant.

Rose paused. "I think you're confusing the sensation of fear … and the idea of surrendering to it …," she answered, draping her arm along Rachel's shoulders. "Just because you **feel** – _and you_ ** _give_** _and_ ** _receive_** _love_ – doesn't mean the fear of losing it should consume you …," she rationalized.

Rachel inhaled sharply, her tension ebbing now. "Again … I would agree, rationally that all makes perfect sense – _but I've been on my own for a long while now_ – taking care of myself … protecting myself since I was a girl …," she offered.

"I'm aware … but this has more to do with trust than self sufficiency," Rose replied evenly. "You must learn to lean on those you trust for support – _lean on_ ** _us_** _, Rachel_ – the people in your life who have invested in you …," she smiled. "The people **you** have invested in saving … your shipmates … your friends … Tom, his children …," she went on. Rachel's heart raced and tears of recognition formed. "We can help you cope … you don't have to do it all alone, not anymore …," she murmured.

 _Rachel sighed and further relaxed into Rose's maternal embrace, relishing in the comfort of such a gesture as she thought of her mother and how much she missed her … her eyes pinned on the horizon now, the sun, still perched high in the sky, the trees dancing in the breeze._

 _###_

Much later, Rachel had retreated to the work table as her more personal belongings lined the top of her bed now. She exhaled and turned her attention back to her tablet where she re-read the dossier on the mission as it stood after the morning debrief with Michener. The initial plan remained intact with this report relaying more information on Subic Bay Freeport Zone, a converted Philippines' military base located just north of Manila where she and the Chandler's would wait for the rendezvous at the start of the mission.

The file included maps and photos along with the outline – _the area, despite a military base_ – seemed subtropical with its blue, endless ocean far along the perimeter, statuesque palm trees and bright, welcoming flowers. She sighed and flipped ahead, viewing an aerial photo of what was deemed, _'Flora Island'_ , still gorgeous, though she wondered how severely the virus might have ravaged it without even making landfall.

There was a knock at the door and Tom sauntered inside with Rose wherein he turned back to his cohort and muttered, "You owe me a drink."

Rose cackled. "It seems I do," she smirked, narrowing her eyes playfully at Rachel.

Rachel snorted at their antics and stood to greet them. "Whatever for?" she asked, her eyes dancing with Tom's now.

"He bet me a round of drinks that you would be working and I … well, I don't know what I was thinking," she chuckled, shaking her head in mock-defeat.

Tom smirked, his eyes pinned to Rachel's now. "It was a good bet, drinks with Rose … in a bar … **outside** of this room … it was a bet we'd all win," he smiled and winked.

Rachel smiled too. "I like those odds," she replied, her cheeks heating as he stared at her.

"Me too," Rose laughed. "All right, we'll make a plan for when you return, drinks are on me," she declared.

"Nah, it was just for fun, the bet ... I mean …," Tom smiled, always a gentleman. "I'm sure I can speak for both of us here, that it would be a pleasure to maintain our friendship," he smiled genuinely, draping his arm along Rose's tiny frame.

 _The older woman beamed and Rachel thought of what she'd said earlier about leaning on the people in her life with whom she trusts … and Rose was certainly one of them._

"Well, with all of the niceties out of the way, let's get on with this discharge," Rose said happily then. "Now … Rachel has signed all of her paperwork and I know you have some sailors coming by in a bit to move everything … so all I have to do is grab a wheelchair and –"

"A wheelchair?" Rachel shrieked, fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater.

Rose chortled. "Oh, don't … come now, it's standard operating procedure –"

"Seriously?" Rachel demanded.

"Seriously!" Rose laughed. "And I'll be right back!" she added playfully and made a hasty exit.

Tom chuckled and stepped forward. "Ah, come on …," he chortled. "It'll only be for a few minutes," he offered sincerely. Rachel fumed. "I see … you've been busy," he surmised then, his eyes moving along the boxes in the corner.

"I have … well … Bertrise and Kara helped out quite a bit with the actual packing, I was more of a director," she smiled, following his gaze. He turned back to her where she saw a cast of doubt etched in his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked of him then.

"Oh, it's nothing …," he replied, recovering, he slipped his hand into hers … still a perfect fit.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she probed, tilting her head, a weak smile cascading along her face.

"No … I'm all right – _it's just your stickers_ – they reminded me of something," he smiled weakly, caressing her hand.

"Oh … well, pink is designated for my office wherever that ends up, perhaps the hotel for now and blue goes to my room, those are personal –"

"And the white?" he asked of her, his eyes searching hers now.

"To the James," she smiled up at him.

"Ah …," he whispered.

"That's all right isn't it?" she wondered then. "I figured this stuff came from the James and without a lab of my own yet and the ship in dry dock it would be all right," she explained.

Tom smiled and turned her. "It's fine," he assured, taking her other hand in his. "Makes sense … I'm just happy you're getting out of here," he went on, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Me too …," she smiled.

 _And therein she felt the tip of her anxieties ebb, because … even if she was scared to walk out of the safety of this sanctuary … she could not deny, when she looked to Tom – when she leaned into him – she felt her fears dissipate just enough to trust that they would make it … together._

 _###_

It was after eight by the time they pulled into the hotel parking lot in an Army-issued jeep the team had procured at some point. Rachel smiled, thinking now about the line of doctors they made their way through, some from her team, some in other specialties, all there at her exit, most there to honor her and her work on the cure. She glanced at Tom as he cut the engine off and silence consumed them. He smiled at her, the filtered light from the headlights, just enough for her to **really** see him.

He leaned toward her. "You all right?" he asked, his voice filling the silence.

"Yes …," she answered. "Just thinking about all of those doctors, the hospital staff … I was surprised by how they honored me …," she exhaled.

"You're famous, what can I say?" he chuckled.

She shook her head. "I'd be _infamous_ if they knew half of what I did to –"

"Don't," Tom appealed to her then. "We all did what we had to do, Rachel … we have to move on from it," he reminded her, tilting his head.

 _She regarded him then … this tower of a man and the way in which he owned what they had been through. His practicality … she admired that, for he was forever a worthy sea captain … a trusted friend and more. And then she smiled._

"I suppose you're right," she acquiesced. "I was just surprised by the outpouring of emotion …," she sighed, her eyes fixed on his: _gorgeous, blue, endless._

"Hmm, well … people hail to you … and really, we can't blame them …," he smiled, admiring her now as he opened his door. "Shall we?" he asked, the cab illuminated now.

 _Rachel smiled and opened her door where Tom promptly met her there. She took his hand and slipped out of the cab. Reaching behind her seat, he grabbed her bags. He locked the jeep and took her hand in his. The hotel still looked grand as they approached, pretty lights accentuating the gardens in all the right places. The crisp air pushed them from behind, urging them forward. And for this brief moment, it was just the two of them._

"So I take it, you don't like surprises that aren't scientific breakthroughs," Tom chuckled as they continued their approach to the carport main entrance.

Rachel smiled. "Not particularly, no," she answered. "Why?" she prompted.

"It's Michener … he wanted to have a celebration for you tonight – _but before you say anything_ – I had him postpone it until tomorrow –"

Rachel's stomach tightened slightly. "What kind of celebration?" she speculated, stopping just short of the carport, she tugged on Tom's hand. "Thank you for warning me," she smiled.

Tom stepped closer and traced his fingertips along her hairline. He smiled. "A champagne brunch," he informed her. "After the morning debrief …," he revealed.

Rachel leaned into his innate heat, drawn to him akin a magnet. "And who will be there?" she prodded.

"The team … our people, plus some local government officials … my family," he answered and then he smiled. "You'll be all right … I'll be there the whole time," he chuckled. "Not that you **need** me … I just sense –"

"I want you there, yes …," she replied, finishing his thought … because she really did need and want him … _period_.

 _###_

In relative silence, the pair made their way to the elevator without being seen. Stepping onto their floor, Tom took Rachel's hand in his and nodded to the ensign on duty and again at another armed sailor as they came to the corridor where their rooms were situated.

 _Walking in tandem, Rachel slowed her pace, feeling somewhat uneasy as they made their way down the dimly lit hallway – just around the opposite corner from where the shooting took place – wherein she briefly wondered what happened to the bullet that went through her that night. She squeezed Tom's hand in response. Her chest tightened and she watched as he pulled a key card from his back pocket. He came to a slow stop and turned to face her, his eyes searching hers as he handed the key card to her._

She sighed heavily and twirled the plastic card in her fingers, absentmindedly counting the number of doors that remained along the hallway. She swallowed hard, barely trusting herself to speak, "And you … your room is right there?"

Tom looked over his shoulder. "Yes … my father is right next to you … and then mine, the kids are already in bed …," he said, his expression softening now.

 _Rachel smiled, though she felt more like throwing up. Her knees were weak and her shoulder radiated, reacting to the small wave of panic and post traumatic stress she attempted to thwart._

"So … this is where it all started …," she finally said, pushing her palm against his.

"Yes …," he answered softly, drawing her near … magnets, snapping into place.

"And where we'll say goodbye again?" she whispered, looking down and away from the intensity of his eyes, her stomach was in knots.

Tom set her bags down and stepped into her space. "No …," he shook his head, raising her chin with his fingertips. "No … this is where we'll see one another tomorrow and prepare for our mission, _together_ …," he countered as the last of her resolve faded. "Rachel …," he entered his unspoken plea, his glassy eyes vacillating over hers now.

 _She stared right back at him – for half of her brain heard and trusted his words – whereas the other half feared the worst. Powerless against her nerves, her heart raced and panic ensued, ravaging her mind and body like a flu … a new virus she could do nothing to stop, for this one was a lifetime in the making. She shook her head, silently chastising the sanctity of love and everything that went along with it._

"Or …," she swallowed hard. "The place where we promise one another to … what? _'Be safe' …_ and leave it up to fate to decide the rest again?" she whispered desperately. Blinking, she released her waiting tears.

"No … come here …," he beseeched her then, cupping her face in his hands. "Look at me … we can do this …," he whispered, leaning closer, his warm hands cradling her skull now, his hot breath fanning her face.

"And what if I'm incapable?" she asked, closing her eyes, she hid from the intensity of his stare.

"Rachel … please …," he husked, holding her in place, his nose brushing against hers now. "You can trust me … **this** … **us** …," he whispered. "I'll be here for you … … always," he exhaled, pulsing his lips against her halo where they stayed, warm and comforting, his heart beating rapidly under her palm.

 _And it was here that Rachel paused and stared up at him, a terrifying wave of fear shaking her senses just then. 'Always' … came his baritone again. Caressing his face with her left hand, she silently grounded herself, keeping her eyes trained on his, so beautiful now that she found she could barely breathe._

" _Rachel …,"_ he whispered her name, drawing her out of her private thoughts. "What?" he prompted, his soulful eyes searching hers.

Her heart bottomed out. "No … Tom …," she muttered, shaking her head. "Not out here …," she said, turning out of his arms where she slipped the key card into the slot.

 _Tom grabbed her bags and the pair slipped into the darkened room. The triangle of bright light disappearing as the door shut and they found themselves truly alone for the first time … ever._

 _Where she watched him drop her bags and step forward, the fragmented light from the reading lamp cascading along his face now, somehow accentuating his insecurities and making him even more real and invested … to her and in her._

 _And there inside that brief moment – her heart gave out, softening as she fell for him all over again – succumbing to her wants and desires because … despite her fears, she thought of little else aside from quelling his._

"Always is a long time, Tom … I want ... _always_ …," she whispered fervently. "Always … … is forever …," she simplified, her eyes pinned to his in the relative darkness.

"It is …," he agreed, exhaling on the truth, his fingertips dancing along her halo now as he appealed to her without words. Tilting his head, he smiled weakly. "If I could make it all go away … I would …," he sighed heavily.

"What?" she heaved, stepping out of his embrace.

"Whatever it is you're so scared of …," he intuited, his deep voice resonating in the quiet that surrounded them. He stepped forward.

 _And it was here that the fear Rachel was so tenaciously avoiding tackled her. It was also here that she ducked out of Tom's way and began to pace in earnest. Frantically, moving about the sleekly furnished room – the perfectly made bed turned down for her – soothing yellow light emanating from the reading lamp, a cozy armchair situated in the corner, her oversized sweater all of a suddenly no more than stifling nuisance._

"Oh God!" she blurted out, inhaling sharply. "What have I done?" she asked, her eyes landing on Tom's as he held his ground and she paced away from him again, walking with purpose now where she repeated her circuit, darting to and fro around room.

"What … Rachel?" he breathed, moving in an attempt to stop her.

"What do you mean? What?" she charged at him. "Don't you feel this?" she shrilled, setting his hand over her heart where it pounded wildly against his palm. Staring at him, she shook her head. "My God, Tom … do you?" she demanded, catching her breath, losing herself within the depths of his gateways: _as clear and calm as the middle ocean._

"I do …," he whispered, a small smile gracing his handsome face as he set her palm over his own muscle where it beat for her in perpetuity … _thump, thump, thump._

"This isn't normal – _how damned scared I am_ – it can't be, this **cannot** be … how it is!" she exhaled, still searching his eyes for her answers.

"But it is … trust me … I feel it too …," he reasoned.

"What? Petrified?" she insisted.

"Yes! **NO**!" he corrected himself. "Damn it," he muttered.

Rachel shook her head and stared at him still. "My God …," she breathed, setting her hand over his. "Look at me …," she exhaled. "I mean … here I am – _standing here alone with you,_ ** _finally alone_** – and all I can think about is how I don't want you to walk out that door!" she whispered harshly. "How I don't want to part ways and let fate rear its ugly head again!" she went on. "Jesus, how did she do it? How do they do it?" she demanded then.

Tom stepped closer and cupped her face with his hands, his eyes clear and without a trace of doubt or insecurity now. "Who?" he asked of her then.

"Your wife … military wives … these women ... they're so brave …," she replied, setting her hand upon his forearm, steadying herself as she held his gaze, still watching for signs of unease, though none appeared. She blinked and released her tears.

"Rachel … you **are** brave," he declared then, gently moving his fingers along her cheeks, he flicked her tears away. "Hell, you're the bravest person I've ever met," he admired frankly. "And about my leaving here tonight …," he shook his head. "I won't go until you're ready for me to – _I imagined tonight would be rough_ – that's why my father has the kids and I asked Michener to reschedule his celebration…," he explained, flecks of uncertainty riddling his handsome face.

Rachel sighed, caressing the handsome plane of his cheek. "Tom … I just … I **cannot** … … lose you," she whispered into their confessional then, her head tilted up, her eyes fastened to his. "I cannot … don't you see ...," she repeated evenly, her heart racing again. "I won't survive it – _I will_ ** _not_** – not after everything–"

"And you won't have to," he answered, cutting her off.

"And you **can't** make that promise!" she retorted, her fearful shrill hanging in the quiet now.

Tom conceded, "No … I can't."

Rachel swallowed hard. "So this is it?" she wondered desperately. "This panic … this is what it means – _what_ ** _love_** _brings_ – what it does to people?" she prattled on. "By God, my mind is a mess …," she muttered.

 _Her heart wild now as she stared at him still, so scared of the fallout now – of what her emotional maelstrom might have done to this 'relationship' – for she knew she could be her own worst enemy when it came to connecting with men … a saboteur even._

"A gorgeous mess, maybe …," was all he said, still holding his own.

"No …," she shook her head. "Do **not** do that, do **not** … make light of this …," she appealed.

"Rachel …," he whispered, holding her steady inside the moment. "I understand … fear … and how it works, hell … we've been running straight into the fear of the unknown since we met …," he sighed, tilting his head.

"We have," she agreed as she regarded him, her more circular thoughts coming to a halt now. "I must apologize … I must …," she exhaled, loosening her tethers. "I feel less than myself – _a loss of control of sorts_ – and you were right about leaving the hospital … it's a little bit of everything has me on edge …," she went on. "But … it has less to do with you than it may seem …," she stammered, her mind reeling.

"I can tell," he asserted, a small handsome smile etched along his face now. "You've been cagey since we left the hospital," he intuited, squeezing her hand. "It was a matter of time … I've had my freak outs too, so I get it … there's a lot at stake here …," he navigated carefully.

"There is …," she agreed, tilting her head. "But you're okay?" she probed gently then, turning her attention to him.

"I am … one day at a time …," he nodded and wrapped his arms around her petite frame, her ear pressed to his chest now, her hands on his hips as she relaxed into him. _"I really do get it … the fear of loss and the loss of control,"_ he said after a moment. _"And despite how unique our finding one another has been …,"_ he navigated carefully and she felt him shudder. _"There are some things you need to know …,"_ he whispered, pulling back he found her eyes.

"Oh?" she sighed, feeling trace amounts of stress spike again as she stared at him.

He nodded slowly, his fingertips traveling along her spine. "I'm not willing to let you go without trying … without fighting for us …," he informed her then. Rachel pressed her lips into a thin smile. "Because I … really need and want you in my life …," he added sincerely, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "And because you want that dream … and I want to give it to you," he whispered thickly, quickly folding her into the envelope of his embrace.

Rachel regulated her breathing, leaning into his warmth before she looked up. "I really do … want that dream with you," she admitted, a small whimsical smile etching along her face now as she blushed: _sun, sand, beach, love, baby._ "It's the jumping off point that had me a little spooked … or _'cagey'_ as you put it," she chuckled. "But make no mistake … I want it …," she whispered. "I want you …," she confessed brazenly.

Tom exhaled with relief wherein she retreated back into his innate heat. _"We're alone, Rachel …,"_ he deemed after another quiet minute, his hot mouth suddenly on her neck. Responsive energy zipped up her spine _._ Her heart plummeted. _"Alone …,"_ he husked into her flesh. _"Finally alone, just like you wanted … like I've wanted … just us …,"_ he peppered into her ear before he kissed her earlobe and maneuvered himself against the wall, drawing her even closer, one hand on the small of her back, the other nestled in her wild tresses.

Rachel clung to him akin to a lifeline then, her insecure, wild thoughts tamed by his touch and her desire for more, the thunder of her heartbeat all she could hear as she whispered to him, "Kiss me."

 _And so he did. Wasting no time, he ducked down and seized her lips, branding her as his own with a series of open-mouthed kisses that pummeled everything she was from the inside out and then back again. Kisses that were not a note-passing exercise of life and death– but rather signified so much more – kisses that solidified who and what they were to one another for all time … and in the here and now. Rachel's heart flip-flopped and her knees buckled in response to his ministrations, one hand on his broad shoulder, the other pinned to his hip where she simultaneously lost and found herself within the confines of his warm, open embrace._

"Hmm …," Tom hummed, pulling back briefly, his fingertips dancing along her hairline. "I wanted to live this moment all day," he admitted before he kissed her again, his tongue skillfully massaging hers.

"Me too … all day … every night …," she said against his open mouth, barely able to get enough of him now.

 _The couple swayed inside their mutual embrace, moans of heated pleasure filling the quiet void of the room until Tom set his forehead against hers wherein tufts of hot air were all that remained between them. Rachel smiled … and so did he._

"We're okay …," he assured, catching his breath. "Let's see about that dream …," he whispered thickly.

"Yes … let's …," she answered breathlessly, pressing her mouth to his without a second thought now, his kisses moving languidly over her lips – _so naturally, so perfectly_ – that the here and now suddenly far surpassed her wildest of dreams.

 ** _To be continued …_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 9**

 _As Tom braced himself against the wall with Rachel in his arms, his lips upon hers, he savored the the idea that for the first time since they met, they were truly alone. And somehow, the idea of just sharing this moment with her mattered even more than the perfectly natural way she felt in his arms, or the way she kissed him back as if they'd been lovers for years._

 _Completely lost now, the energy inside their impromptu refuge had come to a halt and space and time indeed fell away, until all he felt and all he suddenly needed was there, with her arms wrapped around him. He found that his hands were untethered … unscripted now as he caressed her in a way that he'd longed for since she woke up, her moans of pleasure catching him off guard as he deepened the union of their kiss – for this moment was more than an awakening – it was a gift._

 _Coming out of his euphoric haze, Tom reacted now to the sound of a faint alarm that had begun to chirp. He breathed and opened his eyes to find Rachel staring at him – her bated breath fanning his face – her wild eyes, still red around the edges from her outburst, were gorgeous nonetheless._

She smiled, her face flushed. "I can have Motrin …," she explained, pulsing her open mouth against his. "If I want to, Rose set a digital watch for me," she laughed breathlessly.

The chirping ceased and Tom couldn't help himself but to kiss her again for good measure. "Hmm … do you need it?" he asked of her, capping one hand over her injured shoulder, the other smoothing her tresses back and away from her angular face. He smiled.

"No … _yes_ …," she answered. "It does seem to help when I fall asleep …," she clarified, one hand slung low around his waste.

Tom exhaled through his unease, imagining her alone at night and in pain. "I'll grab it, why don't you sit …," he offered, motioning to the bed where she perched herself on the corner. "Which bag is it in?" he asked of her, retreating into the hallway.

" _The messenger style one,"_ she called after him.

 _Tom fetched her bags and set them on the small table in the corner where housekeeping had positioned a coffee maker and some bottles of spring water. He grabbed one of the bottles and peered inside the bag where he promptly fished a prescription bottle from within. Glancing at the label, he opened the bottle and turned around to find Rachel – a whimsical expression imprinted along her flushed face – her posture more open and relaxed than he'd ever seen before … and it was a beautiful thing._

"What's on your mind?" he mused then, still quite mystified by her.

She smiled radiantly, her dark eyes sparkling against the shadowy light of the reading lamp. He watched her cheeks heat. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know …," she teased wherein he could have sworn she batted her eyelashes at him.

"I would …," he grinned and handed the capsule to her with the bottle of water. He sat down next to her, jackknifing his knee into hers, inching closer, "Do tell."

"I was thinking …," she began and then quickly washed the capsule down. " _'What a great ass'_ ," she sassed, renewed spirit etched in her eyes now as she closed the water bottle.

"Oh, you're definitely feeling better," Tom laughed. "I'm glad," he added, completely smitten by her now.

"As am I," she said softly then and leaned into him; her more peaceful aura encapsulating him now as if by rote. "Being here, **alone** with you …," she began, shaking her head, she searched for her words. "It feels … like an unexpected present …," she went on, tilting her head.

Without thinking Tom closed the small distance between them and drew her near, pressing his lips to her temple where they lingered and he breathed her in. "It does …," he agreed, a modicum of his stress ebbing now.

Finding his eyes, Rachel nodded. "And … I'd like to think, as things progress for us … I'll become less selfish," she said then and looked down and away for a beat. "I can't stand feeling … _needy_ …," she enunciated, looking up again, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Tom inhaled sharply and slid his palm against hers until she pushed back. "It's a give and take …," he offered simply. "I wouldn't have it any other way – _and for the record you aren't 'needy'_ – you never have been," he chortled, shaking his head. "But I get it … this is big and you're entitled to some hesitation …," he paused. "We both are …," he added with a reflective smile.

 _Drawing her near again, he set his chin upon her halo and marveled at the equitable way in which Rachel operated, for he was well aware that everything she did or said had a purpose – and that as a scientist, she was always focused on the outcome – the end result … and he saw now that she was applying that same logic to their relationship. She wanted things to be equitable for them … she wanted a partner._

 _He also knew that her relative freak out earlier was the result of a circular pattern she'd gotten stymied by, wherein he wondered if it had anything to do with his mission, and her corresponding nightmare with regards to Nicaragua and the civil unrest the team had encountered there. From their earlier discussions on the matter – he was well aware now that the mission in and of itself was a trigger for her – monkeys or not, the overnight setback and the team's delayed return to the James had done irreparable damage to her._

 _Which was why, in the midst of trying to calm her down, Tom decided to lay his feelings out on the table for her – for it seemed that full transparency was a must – and he couldn't have been happier that he was in a mental state where he could offer her those assurances and_ ** _know_** _, deep within his heart of hearts, that he meant every word. He couldn't undo Nicaragua or ignore similarities between these two missions – but he could own feelings for Rachel – and that had to count for something._

Shifting his hold upon her now, he felt her relax into his embrace – _the low-lit, quiet room, a new sanctuary_ – her dose of Motrin likely in play as he pressed his lips to her crown, breathing her in as he did. She smelled of flowers with a faint residue of antiseptic, likely from the ointment prescribed for her wounds. He sighed and then spoke softly to her, "You should probably get some sleep … it's going to be a long few days from here on out."

Rachel stirred and craned her neck back to find him. "I should … but I don't want to squander this time with you …," she answered candidly.

Tom's heart softened and without thinking, he dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her, soft and quick. "You want me to stay …," he intuited, a small smile forming on his face.

"Tonight … yes … I do …," she exhaled, her voice trailing off. She sighed and continued. "I mean … I want you to – _if you would like to_ – I would like that … _yes_ …," she uncharacteristically stammered. "I just … don't want you to go, not yet anyway … of course, I'm not ready for … … well … you _know_ –"

"Intimacy …," Tom chortled, quickly coming to her rescue.

"Sex!" she blurted out, laughing nervously. "I could just come out and say it … _sex_ –"

Tom held her gaze and chuckled at her sudden awkwardness, "You could."

"It's … I mean … it's inevitable at some point …," she clarified, her cheeks a deep, rosy pink now.

Tom watched her squirm for a beat longer before he took her skull in his hands, his fingertips nestled within her long tresses. "Absolutely inevitable …," he whispered, holding her in place. "At some point …," he smiled slyly before he closed his mouth over hers.

 _Where unruly desire coursed through him – his nerve-endings seeming to snap now after months and months of stress and uncertainty – the last four weeks in particular having had their way with him as braced himself for the outcome of Rachel's health and longevity._

' _She pulled through', he reminded himself now as he adjusted his cradle-hold upon her, ever mindful of her shoulder. Stock images of the shooting moving through his mind now – her lifeless body, massive blood loss, her surgeon's telltale face – wherein unexpected emotion funneled to his forefront, further inciting his desire to hold and feel and make sure of her._

 _Intuitively responding to him, he felt Rachel submit to his touch – her body pliant in his arms as he tranquilly made love to her open mouth – further pledging himself to her in mind, body and spirit with each passing kiss._

"Tom …," she sighed between kisses then, her breathless cat call hanging in the air as the watch alarm began to chirp again. "I should turn that off …," she murmured, holding him close.

The alarm went silent and he held her gaze. "You should," he smiled, running his fingertips along her hairline.

 _###_

 _A short while later, Tom squeezed a small amount of antiseptic ointment from the tube and gently smoothed it along the scar marking Rachel's exit wound. The pair stood on the far side of the room now where he followed her gaze as she stared through their mutual reflection in the glass window pane in front of them. After a long moment, she naturally leaned into his heat and he watched her eyes close._

He finished and set his lips upon her neck and pulsed his mouth there for a beat before he spoke to her, his tone hushed, "Turn around so I can do the front."

 _Rachel's eyes popped open and she promptly turned around, her eyes darting to his for a beat she looked down and seemingly shied away from him. Tom sighed, adjusted her sweater and pulled the fabric of her oversized t-shirt away, revealing the scar site of her entry wound. His heart trembled and he squeezed another dose of the ointment from the tube. As he worked, he could feel Rachel disappear into herself._

"Don't do that …," he requested after another long minute, ducking his head in attempt to capture her eyes.

"Do what?" she queried, looking up.

"Hide from me …," he stated evenly with a weak smile.

She sighed. "I'm not really … I just haven't grown used to seeing it there …," she articulated, tears threatening now.

Tom exhaled. "Scars are just scars …," he declared then. "They give us character …," he breathed, searching her eyes.

Rachel exhaled stepped further into his embrace, setting one of her healing hands on his abdomen over the surgical site of his shrapnel wound. "You can say that because your scars are handsome …," she whispered, her eyes shrouded with insecurity despite her genuine smile.

Tom smiled in tandem. "Well … I do admire your handiwork …," he replied, drawing her near, he smoothed her hair away from her face and quietly appreciated her beauty. "You saved my life …," he added reflectively, his eyes glassy with emotion, his thoughts turning to the oil rig and the men and women they lost.

"Indelible reminders …," she whispered, her voice cracking as she wordlessly made sure of him.

He shook his head, drawing himself away from that darker place. He cleared his throat. "It's not your body I see when I look at you, Rachel …," he incited then. "It's your mind … it's everything I know you stand for … _everything_ you do to me …," he elaborated, exhaling on his truths.

"And you to me," she replied, her eyes searching his for a beat longer before she turned toward the bed and pulled the top sheet back. _"Shall we?"_ she asked of him then.

Tom nodded in assent and moved to stand behind her. "Do you want to shower?" he asked, his heartbeat resonating into his ears; he felt her shudder.

Rachel shook her head and turned around. "No … I … before you arrived at the hospital …," she breathed, completely flustered now. "You?" she prompted, raising her good arm, she set her hand along his face.

 _Tom shook his head, 'no' wherein Rachel smiled and leaned up – kissing the underside of his neck now – her nimble fingers working at the buttons on his shirt as he got to work on the buttons of her sweater, slipping the oversized garment down to her elbows where she dropped her arms and let it fall to the ground. Tom smiled and pulled his shirt over his head, surprised to feel Rachel's hands on his belt buckle before she unzipped his fly and tugged on the waistband of his jeans, her eyes pinned to his._

 _And was here that Tom set his hands over hers, stopping her advancement as he stared right back her, silently appreciating her now – more than an idol, but as a woman …_ ** _revered_** _– a woman that took his breath away without even trying: Rachel …_ ** _his_** _Rachel unveiled … the woman he always knew was there._

 _Rachel … the version of herself hidden beneath her rough exteriors – the one who stole him away now to this private place of hers – a place where she stared right back at him, with her cheeks healthy … and rosy … and her eyes sparkling with unbridled happiness and mischief … the woman hidden inside this place where she felt safe and free, this place where she revealed her true self to him for the first time._

 _And it was here, deep within this asylum that Tom_ ** _finally_** _let his guard down and accepted her full recovery, for seeing really was believing. And seeing her like this – made him more than a believer – for it was the impetus of a future foretold, with her … and that was something that he may not have realized he longed for … until this very moment._

" _Tom … … what are you thinking about?"_ she exhaled breathlessly, her eyes vacillating as she gently pulled him from his reverie, her beautiful face turned up to his.

"How I'm seeing you for the first time …," he replied softly, where his hands found her face. "And how breathtaking you are … _just you_ … like this …," he intimated – _kissing her heart-shaped mouth_ – he pulsed his lips against hers. "You're gorgeous through and through …," he whispered, setting his forehead against hers where he held her inside the moment.

Rachel slipped her warm hands beneath his undershirt, her fingertips tickling his ribcage until she spread her palms against his lower back. Tilting her head up, she pressed a kiss to his neck and then whispered into his ear, "Must be because I'm seeing you … … for the first time."

Tom's heart stilled and he pulled back just enough to watch her eyes became glassy. She blinked and a tiny tear escaped but he let it be as they coveted one another now, appreciating each other for the first time – _the pulley of give and take, firmly taut somewhere in the middle_ – where Tom felt simultaneously lost and found.

He inhaled sharply and without a word, slipped his shoes off before he proceeded to push his jeans down and over his boxer briefs where he stepped out of them altogether. With his eyes tenaciously pinned to hers, he sat down on the edge of the bed and gently drew her to him. Smiling, he unzipped her jeans and swiftly pulled them down, his hands caressing her hips and thighs as he did. Rachel exhaled and stepped into the triangle of space between his knees where she leaned on his shoulders – _her fingers gathering the fabric of his undershirt as she slipped her own shoes off and then her jeans_ – her breathless laugh lingering in the quiet all around them now.

 _And it was here that she left_ ** _another_** _indelible mark upon Tom – for years later – he would swear, he'd never seen her look more like the goddess of a woman she really was than at that moment: brilliant, gorgeous and sexy as hell wearing only a pair of cotton panties and a stretched out t-shirt._

 _He smiled and drew her near, his fingertips zipping along her lower spine as he stared up at her and she down at him for another long moment – their brand of heat covering them akin to a protective cloak now – as she leaned down and cradled his head in her capable hands for a beat before she kissed him senseless upon this precipice of their commitment to one another: Tom and Rachel, Rachel and Tom._

 _###_

Having configured the armchair cushion on the bed behind Rachel's pillow, she lay back comfortably with her head elevated and her injured shoulder closest to the edge of the bed on the right. Tom sat down next to her. "How's that?" he wondered, setting one hand on the bed next to her thigh.

"Ideal," she smiled, setting her hand upon his. She sighed and then whispered hesitantly, "You're sure this is all right … with your father … the children? That you're here with me?"

Tom smiled at her insecurity, but also at her desire to make sure they did this right. He inched closer. "I'm right where I need to be, Rachel … and I have no secrets …," he smiled. "I've kept nothing from my father," he asserted. "And Ashley …," he breathed, silently doting on his loving daughter. "Well … she's aware there's something between us and that our feelings are mutual …," he replied, holding his breath as he waited for her to react.

She squeezed his hand and blushed, inhaling sharply. "I see …," she whispered, pushing her palm against his.

"And I'm right where I **want** to be…," he smiled. "The rest will evolve, just like we are …," he added thoughtfully.

Rachel responded now, a small smile etching along her face as she looked up to meet his gaze, her dark eyes clear and untroubled. "We are …," she breathed. "I just worry about the children … I want them to be happy … _eventually_ … in time," she unburdened, her glassy eyes searching his with the full extent of her beauty on display now as she revealed her softer side to him again.

 _And then he smiled because all he could think was: 'She cares. She wants us.' He tilted his head and regarded her then, leaning closer, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, balancing himself on his free hand as he held her gaze and allowed her warmth to encapsulate him._

"Of course I worry too … but I've also learned that timing **is** everything …," he incited, moving his free hand to her neck. "And … our time is **now** … and life … … **life** – _the way we're living it_ – isn't going to wait for us to catch up …," he encouraged, his eyes fastened to hers.

"Hmm … timing … it can be a curse …," Rachel replied, her eyes wide open now. She blinked. "Or in our case … a blessing," she sighed and some with some effort, leaned forward and captured Tom's mouth with hers – _her kiss tender and soft_ – her gesture, significant and enduring.

 _Pulling away, she sighed and tugged at the sheet to her left: 'his' side of the bed. Without another word, Tom smiled, stood and walked around the bed, stopping at the reading lamp where he turned it off and slipped between the sheets, rolling on his side toward Rachel's heat, where she felt for his hand in the darkness and tugged – draping it over her abdomen where he instinctively caressed her hip – holding her close. She exhaled and rested her free hand on his shoulder, the endless quiet between them easy and comfortable._

 _Tom felt his body ease into the mattress. His eyes suddenly heavy, closed on their own accord as he listened intensely for Rachel's tempo, breathing in tandem with her now – in, out, in, out – the last of the stresses that confounded him so, subsiding like the tides after a storm at sea._

 _And it was here, that Tom paused, allowing his world to stop spinning again – thinking now of the way he imagined this moment might be – the one where he slipped into bed with Rachel for the first time. For naturally he believed it would feel foreign or strange to connect in an intimate way with any woman other than Darien._

 _But instead, wrapped in the safety of Rachel's innate heat – Tom sensed none of those feelings – because it seemed she effortlessly escheated those deep concerns with her keen ability to open herself to him in equitable way that showed him time and time again that_ ** _they_** _were the makers of this thing between them … and that their evolution and progression belonged solely to them. Including this most cherished moment._

 _And so, with his eyes still closed, Tom basked in their mutual energy, listening now as his would-be lover's breathing became slower and even slower still until he felt sure she was sleeping comfortably. And then all was quiet and the liquid darkness of sleep enveloped him too … until all that was left was the knowledge that_ ** _everyone_** _he held dear was safe and sound, and for now, resting under the same roof._

 _###_

 _Night turned into dawn and Tom stirred intuitively. He felt for Rachel in the semi-darkness, his eyes still heavy with deep sleep – and as if by rote, he once again listened for her breathing – soothing himself as he slowly woke up and opened his eyes where he found right where he left her: fast asleep, her head elevated, her left hand cupping her right elbow, her face, angelic as she rested._

 _An opaque light slowly cascaded into the room where he watched the dust particulates dance in the air for a long, private moment. Rolling onto his side, he watched Rachel sleep for a beat longer before he slipped out of the warmth of the bed and swiftly got dressed, his eyes scanning the room as he did. He slipped his shoes on and picked Rachel's clothing up from the floor, draping the garments on the armchair._

He approached and sat on the edge of the bed, setting his hand upon her forearm where he caressed her there until her sleepy eyes opened. She smiled innocently. "Hello," she said, her voice cracking.

"Hi … good morning …," Tom whispered, slipping his hand into hers. "I was going to shower … and if you're all right with it, I'll knock in about an hour and we'll go to the debrief together," he planned aloud.

"Yes … I'd like that ...," she replied with a small smile of her own.

Tom exhaled and regarded her, raising their hands, he pressed his lips to the top of hers and pulsed. "Did you sleep all right?" he wondered then, peeking up at her.

"I did …," she breathed. "And you?" she asked in return, searching his eyes.

"Best amount of sleep I've had in a long while …," he admitted, holding her gaze, he watched her blush. "Will you need help?" he wondered hesitantly then. "I mean ... with anything–"

"No … I'm all right on my own …," she smiled, cutting him off. "My mobility is improving every day …," she assured. "It's just the ointment for my back, really … and once a day for that is sufficient …," she explained, her eyes bright and clear.

 _###_

 _Having showered and donned a clean casual working uniform, Tom peeked on the children through the crack of their door, smiling to himself as they slept on and without a care in the world. He sighed and inched the door closed before entering the main suite where he spotted his father – situated on the armchair in the far corner – a worn copy of "Fathers and Sons" in his hands wherein Tom smiled at his choice of reading material, having read the book several times himself._

"Morning, Dad," he declared from his same spot.

His father looked up and smiled. "Tommy … morning," the older Chandler replied, closing the book. "How's Rachel?" he wondered, regarding his son.

"She's … great … good," he answered. "She … … as I expected … had a bit of post traumatic stress hit her in the hallway there with the shooting and all …," he recounted, his heart sinking slightly.

"To be expected …," Jed empathized, privately checking on his son.

"It was nice to be able to be there for her though … to be alone and really talk about things …," Tom elaborated in general terms. "Thanks for making that possible, Dad …," he added, pressing his lips together into a thin smile.

"Hey … I'm glad I'm here for you …," he smiled easily, his eyes steady and clear, not a concern to be found within. "We're in this together …," he reminded him.

"We are …," Tom replied evenly, feeling centered again. "Can I pour another cup of coffee for you?" he asked then, switching gears.

"Sure …," Jed answered and stood, toting his cup with him.

The pair turned into the small kitchenette and worked in relative silence for a moment. "And the kids?" Tom asked, pouring coffee into his father's cup. "They're all right? Had a good evening?" he prompted, making a sidelong glance at his father, he let go of a breath he wasn't aware he was holding on to.

"They're great," his father chuckled. "Are you kidding?" he added incredulously. "All they can talk about is going on this mission with you … and Rachel …," he mused with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll be frank and tell you that they seem a bit star struck to me …," he warned with another chuckle.

"Is that so?" Tom wondered, a tight grin forming on his face; he took a sip of his coffee.

"Oh yeah …," he chortled, exiting the kitchen. "They've gotten wind that their father is the Captain of the ship – _'The_ ** _Last_** _Ship'_ – as the news feeds have taken to calling the James … _'the ship that brought the cure of the Red Flu to the world'_ …," he prattled off, pride etched within his eyes now as he sat on the sofa.

"The _'last ship'_ … really?" Tom speculated with a small grin. "What else have you heard?" he asked curiously.

"Oh little else from the kids, besides that they'll be going on a mission with the great Dr. Scott … _'the doctor behind the cure'_ …," his father chuckled. Tom smiled. "Well … let's just say, she's the cat's meow, Son …," he smiled broadly.

Tom moved to sit next to his father, his hot cup nestled in his hands. "How about that?" he marveled with a reflective smile, thinking now of Russ Jeter's assessment of children and their adaptability. And then he sighed. "Well then there's even more proof that Michener's video campaign is working … if the kids have gotten wind of it …," he chuckled. "We've been using the one with Rachel curing that girl …," he sighed wistfully.

Jed smiled. "I know and it's very telling, Tommy …," he nodded. "That video is honest … uncut … no frills, I rather like it …," he nodded, giving his approval.

"Well, it's all we've got really, in the way of propaganda," Tom confessed. "C.I.C.'s been broadcasting it far and wide and we've since shared the footage with the remaining government in the Philippines … hoping to make a play in the positive before we make landfall," he outlined with a satisfied smile, his mind working in full gear now.

 _A small smile forming along his face as he caught his breath and thought that about the video clip and how fearless Rachel was that day, given the circumstances. For if he closed his eyes, he could see the video play in his mind's eye … her simple radiance on display along with altruistic way she calmed the child down … comforting her …_ ** _curing_** _her without a single needle … and with all the compassion left in the world._

 _He felt at peace, just thinking about it. For he now knew that she had believed in the contagious cure so deep within her fiber that she would have gone to_ ** _any_** _length imaginable just to finish her experiment … even if that meant she became the sole carrier. A fact that still shocked him to no end – that she was so emboldened by her visceral desire to make something of the depths of Neils' decrepitude – that she would put herself in harm's way … well, it truly spoke to her character like no other decision he'd known her make._

 _Add to that, Tom's own knowledge that Rachel's desperation to prove her point to_ ** _him_** _had mounted to an all time high by the time he had her safely removed from the James before the showdown with the Ramseys. And that yes, also by that time – the tension between them was almost too much to bare – and something indeed had to give. And therein, driven by her tenacity – Rachel brought forth the miracle of the contagious cure – bringing with it, a sense of peace and compassion they both were missing from one another … a give and take, indeed._

Drawing himself out of his reverie now, Tom sighed and found his father's eyes. "So … are Arkady and Bazarov still stirring up trouble?" he smirked, mulling over the influential characters of the heralded book by Russian author, Ivan Turgenev.

Jed smiled. "Of course," he chuckled, shaking his head at the generational story focusing on the social divide within the establishment … the young and the old … the soldier and scholar. "You know, the hotel has quite a selection of reading material on its shelves downstairs," he explained. "Apparently, over a great many years, guests were encouraged to leave a book if they wished to take one …," he went on with a reflective smile.

Tom smiled. "I wonder which book the person took from the shelf when they left that one," he contemplated.

Jed chuckled. "The same thought crossed my mind," he said, his weathered eyes pinned to Tom's now.

"Like father, like son … I guess … how apropos," Tom chortled with a wry grin.

"Yes … indeed," Jed smiled and took another sip of his coffee. "So … is this celebratory brunch still on?" he asked of Tom then.

"Yes, Sir," Tom nodded. "The way I figure it – _Rachel and I will head to the debrief now_ – and we'll circle back here for some time with you and the kids," he smiled. "Then … we can all go to the brunch together," he nodded.

"Sounds ideal …," Jed answered. "I plan to help the kids pack their go-bags today so we'll be finished and ready for departure when finalized," he asserted.

"Good, we're still on schedule to get to Scott Air Force Base tomorrow morning and complete the balance of our last minute checks from that outpost," Tom answered. "I'll know more after the debrief," he confirmed, glancing at his watch.

His father stood and Tom joined him. "You look good, Son … really more focused and well-rested than I've seen from you since this whole thing started," he observed, setting his hand upon Tom's forearm.

"I am, Dad," Tom answered, because he really was. He slipped his key card into his breast pocket and headed for the door. "Have a good morning," he smiled at his father.

"We will," Jed answered and Tom softly closed the door behind him.

 _Alone in the hallway, Tom exhaled and came to stand in front of Rachel's door, pausing for a beat before he rapped. She opened the door and smiled radiantly wearing typical Rachel Scott garb: jeans and a sweater – her hair brushed back and away from her face – some notes on a clipboard in her good hand._

"Hi …," he smiled. "Ready?" he asked of her, his eyes pinned to hers.

"Hi …," she smiled. "Your timing …," she muttered with a wry grin. "An hour on the dot," she chuckled, shaking her head as Tom grinned at her. Exhaling, she stepped into the hallway and the door closed behind her wherein she whispered to him, "Turns out, you were right … this **is** where we meet again and start on our mission … together."

 _###_

Tom made a sidelong glance in Rachel's direction now before they rounded the last corner on the floor, making a cursory nod at the ensign on duty before he turned the handle and opened the door to Michener's offices, a din of lively conversation spilling forth as he did. Tom smiled broadly and Rachel stepped over the threshold where Michener beamed from his spot.

"Dr. Scott, everyone!" he boomed with excitement to the group.

Where all eyes turned to them and perhaps again to Rachel's surprise, she was met with a round of thunderous applause – _the women and men in attendance hailing to her much like the doctors at the hospital_ – though this time, and with this group in particular, Tom was well aware that heartstrings were pulled in equal measure from both sides.

For he'd be a liar if he didn't see those humanizing emotions that set his leadership team – _his shipmates on the Nathan James_ – apart from the rest. For the satisfied grins upon the faces of Slattery, Jeter, Garnett, Green, Burk, Taylor, Foster, Granderson, Mason and even Michener … paled in comparison to the tears within their eyes.

And it was here that Captain Thomas Chandler paused yet again and realized, unequivocally, that he knew no prouder moment.

 ** _To be continued …_**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 10**

The meeting space was crowded and a bit warm, the conversation lively over hot cups of morning coffee and breakfast pastries as Tom stood alongside Russ Jeter and watched Rachel from afar as she moved around the conference room and genuinely reconnected with each person in her own way, presently situated with Granderson, Foster and Mason on the far side of the room near the continental breakfast buffet, relaxed smiles adorning their fresh faces.

" _Dr. Scott is looking well, Sir,"_ came Russ Jeter's smooth baritone.

Tom smiled tightly. "She is …," he agreed.

"Do you think she's ready for a mission of this magnitude?" Jeter wondered, taking a sip of his coffee, his dark eyes searching.

"I do," Tom declared without hesitation. "And this debrief will jumpstart the reality of what we're dealing with on that island – _and if we know Rachel Scott in the way we think we do_ – she'll be right back in the driver's seat … in full _scientific_ command before we leave this room," he affirmed evenly, his voice laced with pride.

His Master Chief nodded in assent. "And what of her physical strength?" he probed, concern etched along his face. "I can see, even in her gait, she's favoring her shoulder," he warned, though without judgment.

 _Tom followed his gaze and smiled, for there were times when he was reminded why Russ Jeter was the best Master Chief he'd ever served with, and this was one of them. Leaving no stone unturned, Jeter was a man who cared about the minutiae, he didn't miss the obvious or dismiss the more obscure facets of Navy life, especially when deployed_.

"Overall …," he began. "Her recovery is progressing as it should …," he said as Rachel pinned her eyes to his from across the room. He smiled, holding her in place for a split-second before he turned back to Jeter. "She's … … doing well, just out of the gate – _but to answer your unasked question_ – no … she cannot hold her own," he admitted frankly.

Russ smiled and Tom tilted his head. "Glad we're on the same page, Sir," he replied.

Tom nodded. "She'll need a team with her – _on Subic Bay of course where they'll wait to rendezvous_ – and then a dedicated team until we're sure the threat has been eliminated once they join us on the island," he articulated.

"And … Dr. Scott … will she be aware of the sustained need for this dedicated team once she and your family make landfall on the island?" Jeter asked hesitantly.

 _Tom smirked, for they all knew how stubborn Rachel could be when it came to taking care of herself – though he also knew she was realist – and given her present condition, she had already indicated the need for excess personnel._

"We're on the same page, Russ …," he said in a hushed tone then, the conversation turning personal. "She and I … we're on the same page," he added, screwing his mouth up.

Jeter smiled with recognition. "So … you've spoken with her, following our conversation on the James …," he wondered evenly, probing without overstepping.

"I have … we have …," Tom assured with a smile.

"I'm glad … for both of you …," he nodded, a twinkle nestled within his dark eyes now.

"So am I," Tom exhaled on his truth as Michener and Slattery approached. "Gentlemen, about ready to get started?" he prompted.

"Yes, Sir," Slattery answered with a firm nod. "Feels like old times," he added with a playful grin.

Michener chortled. "Somehow I don't doubt that," he grinned in turn, clapping his hand on Tom's shoulder. "I'll leave the final semantics up to you, Captain," he added with a nod.

"Thank you, Sir," Tom answered.

Turning to the men, the President spoke directly, "As discussed, on the propaganda end of this thing, we've arranged for a small press corps to attend the brunch today. I still see this as a necessary evil following the misinformation broadcasted by Ramsey. We're still not sure of his reach, but outliers and staunch believers are to be expected to crop up for years to come."

"We're all in agreement there, Sir," Tom assured. "The team will be notified and all propaganda messages will be committed to," he added, his eyes moving over the room.

"I'll take my leave then … I asked Granderson to leave those placards for distribution to the team in a box in the far corner," Michener smiled. "See you at the brunch, Gentlemen."

 _The men nodded, standing somewhat at attention as Michener departed and worked the room, eventually disappearing through the doorway to his temporary offices. Tom watched with interest then as Douglas, their dedicated hotel attendant, presented Rachel with a cup of green tea, her cheeks flushed as she turned her attention to Tom and smiled radiantly from her same spot. She raised her tea cup and Tom nodded in assent as she excused herself from her conversation and made her way toward him, stopping briefly to speak with Green, Burk and Taylor until laughter erupted from that group and she departed, smiling broadly as she made her final approach._

"Gentlemen," she greeted, her cheeks flushed, a sparkle hidden deep within her eyes.

"Dr. Scott," Slattery and Jeter answered in unison, the pair smiled.

"What was that all about?" Tom chuckled, glancing at the trio of officers.

Rachel turned back from whence she came and smirked, "Oh, these fine officers wanted to know which of them I thought would be best suited for helping me with some strength training as my physical therapy progresses."

The three senior officers snickered. "And …," Tom prompted, his eyes dancing playfully with hers.

"I informed them I planned to ask Miller," she cackled, turning around again.

Slattery chuckled low and deep, his eyes bright with mischief. He deemed, "Good kid."

"Wise choice," Jeter added smoothly, shaking his head.

Tom smiled broadly, holding the attention of the brawny group of lieutenants. "Well, a little healthy competition never hurt anyone," he smiled. The men chuckled. "I like that idea, actually …," he affirmed. "And … Miller, he'll be a force to be reckoned with one day," he added thoughtfully – _briefly mulling over the young sailor's journey on the James_ – the vaccination trial utmost on his mind now.

Rachel cleared her throat, effectively drawing Tom from that far off place. She smiled and so did he. "I was wondering … _Captain_ ," she enunciated with her brow raised. "If I might have the opportunity to address the team before we start on logistics?" she requested.

"Sure thing," he replied without hesitation.

 _###_

 _With the tac-teams situated around the large table, Rachel stood at the head, looking at a file Milowsky had brought to her attention when he arrived moments ago. Behind them, Mason, Granderson and Val worked on bringing the satellite connectivity to life. Presently Tom stood between Jeter and Slattery and decided that, despite Rachel being at ease in the room, she still exhibited some signs of her injuries and that Jeter was indeed correct, she was favoring her right side._

 _Rachel smiled at Milowsky and then he turned to go and she watched him as he positioned himself in the far corner where something caught her eye. Tom watched her move now and tilt her head at the contents inside a document storage box. Smiling to herself, she lifted a laminated placard from within. She turned the placard over and with intuition – she made eye contact with Tom – a curious look upon her pretty face as she held the placard up: the card adorned with her photograph and a short message in English and Filipino that stated that the holder of the card was a guest of the local government and was a representative of Dr. Rachel Scott, the doctor with the cure._

 _Tom smiled and nodded in assent – for he had approved of this propaganda method himself – in complete agreement with Michener on the stance that Rachel was the face of the cure. And in doing so, they had hundreds of half page placards printed and laminated to bring with them in an effort to secure safe passage on the islands._

Rachel returned to the table and set the placard down next to her notes, picking it up again before cleared her throat. The room grew quiet and the screens behind her came to life, colorful maps and satellite images of the region illuminating the room now.

"I asked Captain Chandler to allow me a few minutes of your time this morning," she began. She held the placard up and smiled. "I would be remiss if I believed this," she said with a wry grin, eliciting a low chuckle from the group at large. "If I had my way, this placard would have all of your faces printed upon it," she breathed, shaking her head, she set the card down.

"You're the identifier, Dr. Scott," stated Garnett evenly then. "I think we're all okay with it," she smiled.

Rachel smiled in return and then sighed, her eyes moving around the room. "Well … I suppose I should get started … thank you," she nodded to Garnett and then paused. "As Navy protocols go – _I'm quite certain there is another more appropriate venue or time to speak of personal matters_ – but in light of my recent condition and recovery … I feel I must say some things now that perhaps I've wished to say for a long while …," she began and shook her head, her eyes flicking to Tom's for a beat before she continued. "You know, when I think back to a time when I was alone in my rationale on how to beat this virus …," she exhaled, her voice shaking slightly. "Back to the weeks when I fought to requisition a Navy ship … _a ship that would become the Nathan James_ …," she added hurriedly. "And especially when I think about the secrecy of it all …," she sighed and hesitated, shaking her head again, making an attempt to collect herself and though not apparent to others in the room, Tom could tell she was faltering. She exhaled and pushed through her unease. "And then … in setting a course for the Arctic – _doing what had to be done_ – but without your willing participation … when I think of that time in my life … I feel lost all over again," she sighed heavily and cupped her right elbow with her left hand.

 _He stepped forward but stopped himself. She shook her head and moved her eyes around the room briefly. Tom exhaled – staring at his woman – the silence in the room consuming him now as his thoughts ran wild and back in time to the beginning of it all. He blinked._

"And then I think about the evolution of everything – _all of it_ – our collective journey and how things unfolded so recklessly … and for **my** part in how many people died before I figured it out, your loved ones included …," she stopped, she scanned the room. "And how much trust was lost … between all of us …," she continued, her insightful eyes glassy now. Tom swallowed hard and watched Granderson press a napkin to the corner of her eye wherein he was met with a trigger memory of her mother committing suicide in front of him. He blinked again and Rachel sighed. "You must know … I remain encumbered by all of your losses and by my taking precious time away from you and your families …," she breathed, setting her right hand over her heart. She shook her head again. "I … alone … am responsible for our tumultuous beginning … but I also know everything in life **does** happen for a reason …," she smiled wistfully, several sailors nodded in assent now. "And I think my _friend_ … Lieutenant Foster, might have said it best yesterday, that perhaps there was no beating this virus until it met its match in the form of a _'trifecta':_ the tenacious crew of the Nathan James along with your Captain … _our Captain_ …," she smiled, her voice hitched. "And myself, the third part …," she sighed, her eyes fixed to Foster's for a beat before she nodded in assent to Tom where she pinned her eyes to his. "And … I can only hope … when you brought the cure to Norfolk and beyond after Baltimore … and again to the courtyard here in St. Louis, that you felt … it was worth the journey …," she breathed. "And that this next phase of our mission will _also_ be worth it – _because to the people of these small islands_ – our mission means the difference between life and certain death," she said passionately, her eyes scanning the room.

 _And it was here that Tom hoped that Rachel realized she was standing, not just amongst colleagues as she might have believed – but instead amongst shipmates and even more than that, friends – and that the U.S. Navy, true to form, with all of its protocols, had indeed serviced her well._

Rachel sighed and switched gears. "Because these _'naturally immune'_ islands are not what they were a couple of months ago," she explained. "Especially with the advent of the contagious cure – _I'm_ _ **very**_ _sad to report_ – that these safe havens have actually become the deadliest places on earth …," she stated with authority. "You see, as you may know by now, the contagious cure travels within the same airstreams as the virus does and has for all of these months …," she paused and pressed her lips together into a contemplative line. "And therefore, without the virus making landfall – _followed by the contagious cure_ – these islands will never really be safe again …," she went on. "They will become, in effect … traps to the people there – _places that if we let them be_ – will eventually succumb to the power of the virus _**whenever**_ _the winds change,_ _ **if**_ _they ever change …_ and what happened on a global scale will devastate these islands within days, especially without the guarantee of the contagious cure also making landfall," she went on. She exhaled sharply. "And with the virus potentially alive and well on those islands – _if it comes to that_ – we, as a human race, can never _really_ be sure we've beat it …," she exhaled. " **All** live strains must be destroyed … and the misconception of these islands as _'naturally immune, safe places'_ , must also be thwarted ...," she sighed heavily. "The threat has to be eliminated … and to do that, we must introduce the virus **ourselves** and then promptly spread the contagious cure," she rationalized. "And so, from where I stand – _as a scientist and a global citizen_ – I see this as a chance for me … and for us, to do this together … in a partnership …," she smiled, her eyes fixed on Tom's now. "A chance for me to do this over with all of you – _and this time_ – with your willing participation …," she stated evenly, her eyes moving around the table now with her cheeks flushed and healthy … full of life.

Tom smiled tightly as the enthusiasm in the room became apparent and a round of healthy applause broke through the somber silence. He glanced at Slattery and the two of them walked along the periphery to the front of the room where the esteemed XO thanked Rachel and began to deliver the logistics portion of the debrief. Tom came to stand beside her where he picked the placard up and the pair stepped back and away from the table.

"That went well …," he said, turning to her. "You okay?" he wondered, unable to stop himself from asking.

"Yes …," she answered softly, her eyes searching his for a beat before she blinked.

 _Tom sighed and glanced around the room before he looked down at the placard in his hands. Rachel's simple U.S. Navy dossier photo stared back at him now where all he could think about was that this was what she she looked like when she was 'alone and afraid' … and on the precipice of the unknown. This was Dr. Rachel Scott_ _ **after**_ _she had secured the Nathan James and had an identification photo taken, likely in some administrative office in Norfolk._

 _This was Rachel, alone and afraid with her hair pulled back. Her lips in a thin, contemplative line. Her gorgeous dark eyes having already seen the wrath of the virus. Her pure heart already squeezed tight by what she knew would come to be. Her exquisite spirit tucked protectively away, safely stored in some other place and time (an alternate universe he was now privy to)._

 _This was what she looked like when they met._

 _This was what she looked like, already tattered and torn by emotion and stress and yet – when he looked at the photo – all he_ _ **saw**_ _was so much more than what met the eye. All he saw was her beauty. Her passion. Her spirit. All he could suddenly see was the woman she had evolved to be … for him, to him._

 _A woman who didn't give up – a woman who might have been alone and very afraid – but still managed to survive, to go against the grain … and save the world. Trifecta or not … she was a force to be reckoned with and quite unbelievably: she wanted him._

He smiled into himself and turned his attention back to her, this woman who meant _everything_ to him. "It was the only photo I could find of you," he said then, his voice low, deep. "I hope you don't mind …," he added, tilting his head.

"I don't …," she assured. "I don't care how people see me …," she said pragmatically. "Only that they do … and that you do …," she smiled with her eyes tenaciously pinned to his and her fighting spirit surely alive and well.

 _###_

Tom stood in front of the door to his suite, Rachel at his side. He pulled his keycard from his uniform breast pocket and flashed it at her with a smirk, "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she deadpanned, catching his eyes with hers.

 _And with that, Tom slipped the keycard into place and pushed the door open only to find the suite empty and quiet. Making a sidelong glance at Rachel, he set the keycard down on the side table and spotted a note from his father informing him that he'd taken the children downstairs about a half hour prior to borrow some books for the flight and would return soon. Tom smiled and handed the note to Rachel._

"Should we join them?" she wondered, a small smile etched along her face as she looked up.

"Nah, I'm not crazy," he muttered with a wry grin, draping his arm along her trim shoulders where she peered up to him, her cheeks pink with life. "We're suddenly _alone_ … in the middle of the day …," he whispered thickly, his eyes trained on hers, his heart alighted.

"Well … when you put it like that …," Rachel yielded, intuitively submitting to his charms, her breathless laugh filtering through the silence of the room as she held his gaze.

"I do …," he smirked, cajoling her to the sofa, their mission dossier still tucked under his arm, her good arm slung low around his waist.

 _He set the thick file down on the coffee table and Rachel sat down on the sofa. Tom filed in next to her, their backs to the large window as she jackknifed her knee and turned toward him – her calming energy encapsulating him now as he leaned closer – one arm draped along the back of the sofa, his hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee._

She laughed, her keen eyes moving around the suite for a beat before she met his gaze again. "I suddenly feel like a schoolgirl," she confessed softly, leaning forward. "And I've _never_ felt like a schoolgirl," she added, her eyes playful, though reflective.

"There's a first time for everything …," he sighed; she laughed, inching closer.

 _He set his hand along her angular cheek then and she naturally tilted her head into his palm where he closed the small distance between them, sliding his arm around her shoulders drawing her into his warmth … her flesh soft to the touch, her eyes searching his for a beat before she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, taking his breath away with her lingering kiss, soft and sweet and familiar already – her free hand at the nape of his neck where she held him in place – deep inside this unforeseen moment of solitude where they cautiously set their inhibitions free._

Pulling back slightly, she brushed her fingertips along his lips. "I can't …," she whispered, shaking her head wherein Tom spotted an intensity in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "For the life of me … I can't describe what you've done to me …," she admitted, brushing her lips against his once more.

Tom returned her kiss, tenfold, his unruly desire for her intensifying akin to a storm surge now as he reluctantly pulled himself away and murmured, "You don't have to, Rachel." He smiled and sighed. "We're on the same page…," he said, his voice low as he repeated his earlier sentiment to Russ, his fingertips dancing along her hairline wherein he realized just how taken he was with her. He tilted his head and regarded her then, trying to still his heart. "And you know … there **is** a word for it …," he suggested evenly, his eyes searching hers now as a pang of unexpected vulnerability pricked at him.

Rachel smiled and he watched her cheeks flush, heating to a rosy, beautiful red. "No … there's no singular term for this, Tom …," she answered, her voice hitched as she stared at him still … quite mystified.

His heart went nuts, strumming against his eardrums as the sound resonated and filtered into the silence all around them. "No?" he ventured; he smiled weakly and cleared his throat.

Rachel lowered her hand and laced her fingers through his. She looked down and smiled. "No …," she whispered, caressing his fingertips. "It's … you're all-encompassing …," she muttered. "You're like a drug …," she laughed, raising her head, her reflective eyes glassy with emotion now. Tom held his breath. "You're everywhere … all the time, just … _everywhere_ …," she smiled and he watched a set of lone, happy tears pop from her eyes.

"And so are you to me …," he replied before he leaned in and kissed her wet cheeks, the salt of her tears on his lips now as he pulled back slightly, privately regarding her as he sank further into the blessing of their union. "So are you … to me," he repeated, shaking his head at the wonderment of love ( _his singular term for it_ ) and how it operated of its own volition … and at its own speed … taking its sweet time … until it truly was omnipresent … _everywhere_.

 _The main door to the suite clicked and the lock was engaged and within seconds, the pair was catapulted back into the frenzy of life. They stood in unison as the enthusiastic bunch, with their arms full of books marched into the sitting area – where they reunited and bestowed important hugs upon one another. Energetic chatter consumed the silence now as the new 'family' gathered and appreciated one another. Their tender hearts alighted now within this cherished window of time, flanked by Ashley and Sam's unbridled innocence and lively spirits that somehow dwarfed all that had been marred since their journey began._

 _One-hundred percent of the attention was now directed to the children as they regaled their adult audience with stories of their prior evening and morning to date while they busily doled out books to each. Ashley having selected a copy of Hemingway's, "The Old Man and the Sea" for Tom, wherein he could only chuckle at her tongue-and-cheek grand gesture._

"I know it's about a fisherman and a marlin, Dad … but it's a classic," she giggled.

"It is … maybe we'll read it together," he suggested playfully, marveling at her sudden maturity.

 _Sighing happily, Tom draped his arm along her shoulders and drew her near as they looked on while Sam smiled sheepishly and offered Rachel a copy of Yann Martel's acclaimed book, "The Life of Pi", where Jed quickly came to his aid, explaining to Rachel that it was he who thought of her when he saw the novel, which tells the story of a tenacious young boy who survives on a lifeboat for over two-hundred days after a shipwreck … and with a Bengal tiger, no less!_

"A Bengal tiger … _really_?" Rachel laughed, instantly amused as she turned to Tom.

"No kidding," he ruminated with a broad smile.

 _And as his eyes fused with Rachel's, he found himself saying what he wanted to say without words: 'Thank you for this.' To which she answered with an endearing smile meant just for him and therein, he truly believed he had been redeemed after all that had transpired._

 _That he could finally look upon his children and appreciate their health and wellness and_ _ **know**_ _he did right by them – and that when he looked upon Rachel, sitting now amongst the surviving Chandlers – that he would forever remember that she was their savior._

 _That her wisdom and fortitude had saved Darien's legacy and preserved his livelihood in all of its glory. And that her fighting spirit had provided them with this moment … and what would become the next … and the next … and the next … until a new legacy would surely rise in the form of their longevity and commitment to one another and this surviving generation … his beloved children._

 _###_

Leaning over the coffee table with Sam sitting to his left and Rachel on his right, Tom reached for a map that displayed the distance they would travel on the Gulfstream Jet (a C-37 series procured as part of a joint mission with Scott Air Force base). "See this route here, as crazy as it sounds, it's a relatively straight flight over the Pacific," he explained, pointing to a directional arrow that showed the flight path.

Sam's eyes widened and he retreated further into Tom's heat. "Over the ocean? What if we run out of gas? And how long will that take?" he prattled on, tracing his finger along the route.

Tom chuckled. "All good questions," he replied, smiling at his son. "About twenty hours, but we won't run out fuel," he assured, draping his arm along his tiny frame.

Rachel smiled. "Here, Sam …," she said, passing a glossy photo of a Boeing Pegasus refueling tanker to him. "This is the tanker that will refuel our jet … mid-flight," she nodded. "Pretty neat, right?" she wondered, trying a new tactic: _the cool factor._

"I guess," he said, unconvinced. "But … over the ocean? Really? Is it the only way?" he persisted innocently.

It was Jed's turn now. "That's right, buddy … over the ocean," he said with a confident smile. "And we'll all be with you the whole time," he assured, doting on his grandson.

"I suppose," Sam rolled his eyes. "Over the ocean …," he shook his head. "And when we get there, then what?" he wondered.

"Then the fun really starts," Ashley chimed in with a bold smile. Tom laughed out loud. "We get hang out _here_ with Rachel and wait for Dad's part of the mission to be completed," she said, passing him an aerial photograph of Subic Bay Freeport Zone, a demilitarized area located a few hours from Manila. "Doesn't it look pretty?" she asked of him, pointing to the bay surrounded by lush, tropical trees.

"It does …," he nodded. "It looks very nice … it's just the whole flying over the ocean part that sounds a little scary," he defended, his eyes trained on Jed's now.

Tom chuckled. "Once we're airborne, you might forget we're over the ocean for some of the time," he reasoned. "Plus you'll sleep and you'll have your books and you'll know everyone on the flight – _remember, Russ and Mike and Danny and Burk_ – they'll all be there too," he assured.

"I suppose, plus the rest of the mission sounds good … even if there will be sick people there," he said then, screwing his mouth up. Tom sighed and drew him close.

"Life's an adventure, Sammy," Jed said then. "And we have to do our part, isn't that right, Rachel?" he added thoughtfully.

Rachel smiled. "We do …," she answered softly, glancing at Tom. He nodded in assent.

Ashley turned to Rachel then. "And the people there … will they be sick like we were?" she asked hesitantly. "Like Mom was?" she wondered, her voice became softer. "I mean … I _know_ they will be, I just want to hear it …," she added pragmatically.

 _Tom reached across Rachel's lap for Ashley and pressed a comforting palm upon her knee. She looked up and smiled weakly. Rachel draped her arm along her shoulders wherein the fearless girl folded into her warmth. The new couple stared at one another through glassy eyes for a beat in time, again, no words were necessary. Tom felt his heart split wherein a dull ache radiated; Darien's death, suddenly palpable. He swallowed hard in an effort to maintain his composure, his eyes tenaciously pinned to Rachel's where his pain was somehow alleviated._

Rachel blinked and broke their connection. "Sadly … I'm afraid so, sweet girl …," she murmured, drawing her near.

Sam shifted inside Tom's embrace. "We can't get sick again, right?" he asked of Rachel then. "Even though we're gonna get a shot that will give us … _something_?" he asked, tilting his head.

"No, you will not get sick from this virus again," Rachel assured with a disarming smile. "Your father and I …," she breathed, losing herself for a beat. "And the entire crew of the Nathan James … we all had the booster and we helped a lot of people get better," she explained softly, doing her best to allay his fears.

Tom sighed. "If there was _any_ chance you would get sick, we wouldn't have you involved in this …," he assured, fixing his eyes on Sam's: _innocent, endless … anxious_. "And really … the booster will _only_ work with you because you had a shot of Rachel's original cure in Baltimore," he explained. "It's the best way to make sure the virus gets stopped for good on those islands … it's complicated, but the science of it all predicts that we have to do it …," he went on in simple terms.

Ashley nodded. "I understand, Dad," she sighed and turned to Rachel. "So it will be how it was for you and the girl in the video …," she affirmed with a small smile.

"Exactly … but just with more people to help …," Rachel nodded.

"That's right … and you're an important part of the solution …," Tom encouraged lightly.

"Remember the video, kiddos …," Jed began. "The booster is a cure that's actually contagious, which is pretty ingenious … because sometimes – _as I'm sure_ _Rachel can tell you_ – cures are really hard to come by …," he explained, his granddaughter's eyes trained on his now. She smiled weakly and so did he.

"They are … indeed …," Rachel reflected. "Hard to come by … some of the time …," she repeated, her voice unexpectedly cracked and betrayed her.

 _She sighed and continued to nod slowly in assent, her glistening eyes vacillating over Tom's for a beat before she turned her attention back to Ashley and watched as the girl moved through a stack of photos of the islands – bright blue oceans, pristine white beaches, the sun high in the sky – every photo more gorgeous than the previous._

 _Tom privately regarded Rachel for a moment, looking for signs of fatigue – noticing now that she seemed to be lost in another world entirely – almost holding her breath as she, too, studied the photos. Before long, she pulled herself from her reverie, her eyes glassy with unearthed emotion wherein she casually tamped her fingertips along their edges. She sniffled and looked up to find Tom staring at her. Again without words, he tilted his head and asked her, 'Are you okay?' to which she nodded passively and averted her eyes from his._

After another minute, she cleared her throat and picked one of the photos up: _a beautiful, endless beach, the focal point._ "You know …," she began softly. "When I was girl … my parents took me to one of these islands for holidays … quite often …," she smiled at the memory.

"Really?" Ashley wondered. "Is it really this pretty?" she asked, peering up to Rachel.

"Even more so … I remember it to be like a dream …," she smiled, her steadfast gaze meeting Tom's where she held him in place. "I mostly remember feeling warm and safe …," she recalled.

"How old were you when you visited there?" Sam asked. "I bet it was a lot of fun," he supposed.

"It was … so much fun," she answered. "They were the best moments of my childhood, as far I can remember," she said wistfully. "The last time we went … I was about your age, Ashley …," she offered, her voice hitched into a small gasp, catching her off guard.

 _Tom turned to her then and spotted a look of unease that fell upon her beautiful face for all of a few seconds before it was gone. Instinctively, he shifted and moved his arm around her shoulders._

"Why did you stop going?" Sam wondered. "It seems like the best place on earth," he said practically.

Rachel sighed and shook her head, her eyes fixed on the table in front of them. "My mother … she passed away …," she acknowledged then.

The relative silence of the suite was suddenly filled with the roar of a vacuum, an unexplained void of sorts. "Rachel …," Tom whispered, his heart slowly sank akin to an anchor.

She shook her head and spoke softly then, her voice monotone, her mind whisked away to that far off place. "We … went on a mission with my father …," she exhaled. "He was a reverend – _we used to travel all over the world with him_ – and then on one of those trips … my mother contracted malaria …," she whispered, Tom felt her tremble inside his embrace. Protectively, he tucked her further into the envelope of his arms. "And my father … he was misguided, you see – _and he insisted that her survival be left up to fate_ – even though there was a treatment, he didn't want to intervene …," she exhaled. "It was all very confusing and … scary, especially since she could have been cured …," she shook her head, mulling over the details again.

"You were my age …," Ashley declared softly, slipping her hand into Rachel's whilst bravely holding herself together. Tom's heart bottomed out.

Still a world away, Rachel squeezed Ashley's hand in return and continued. "And so, you know … this is why I am the way I am …," she breathed, smiling weakly at Ashley and then at Tom, her eyes pinned to his wherein he thought he saw the flicker of the girl she once was. "This is why I never seem to give up – _why I have spent my entire life searching for vaccinations and cures_ – even though they can be … hard to come by …," she said, meeting Jed's gaze now. "And I must tell you, sweet girl …," she went on, her voice trailing off as she found Ashley's eyes. "How sad I am that we didn't get there in time for your mother … and that I wish … I could make your scared feelings disappear," she soothed, releasing her waiting tears.

 _It was Jed whom reacted first to this sentiment, his calming eyes landing on Tom's before he leaned over the coffee table and spoke to Rachel as any father would have done._

"You did your best, Rachel – _and God knows we can't undo what has happened to you_ – or to these kids … or anyone …," he counseled. "And we can't hold you to that, to the losses of innocent people … and nor should you live with such a burden …," he reasoned wisely.

"No … I suppose that much is true," she acquiesced gracefully. "Doesn't make it any less of a reality though …," she exhaled, pressing her lips into a thin line. She shook her head.

"Well, the five of us wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you …," he reminded her. "And even this moment right here, right now – _as unforeseen as it is, and as unlikely of a fate or destiny as it might appear to be_ – wouldn't have come to fruition without you … and your fight for the cure …," he smiled as he sat back down and sighed heavily. "I'm awfully proud of you … of the both of you," he added, his eyes glassy with emotion as he looked to Tom.

"I'm sorry about your mother …," Ashley whispered then. "But I'm happy you're here with us," she smiled weakly.

"We all are …," Tom said, pressing his chin to Rachel's crown.

"And … I couldn't be happier about having ended up here, with all of you …," Rachel smiled, further retreated into the crescent of Tom's embrace.

 _###_

With the start of the brunch fast approaching, Rachel had excused herself to the washroom, disappearing into Tom's room where she had yet to materialize. He glanced behind him at the doorway, not a sound to be heard from within. "I should probably check on her," he stated and stood up.

"Wise idea," Jed nodded in assent.

Tom smiled tightly and winked at Ashley. She smiled in return. He tousled Sammy's hair and said, "Give us a few minutes, we'll all go down together as planned."

"We'll be here, Son," his father encouraged.

He made his way to the doorway where he hung back, peeking inside the room before he cautiously stepped over the threshold. His eyes swept the expansive space, following the triangle of light coming from the small walk-in closet. He took several several steps toward the ante-room between the closet and the washroom and then stopped when he spotted Rachel in the closet, her good arm raised, her hand sweeping along the long line of his uniforms where she suddenly appeared to be a much more fragile version of herself. He held his breath and then sighed her name.

"Rachel."

She turned to him and smiled, her eyes dry, though red-rimmed. "I took a detour," she offered simply. "I exited the washroom and your uniforms caught my eye …," she breathed. "You look handsome in a uniform, have I ever told you that?" she rambled on, shaking her head.

Tom's heart raced and he shook his head, _'no'_. "May I?" he wondered, hesitating before stepping into the small space with her. She nodded, her lips quivered.

 _And so with his heart in shambles, Tom flipped the light switch off and stepped inside the makeshift sanctuary with her – the silence screaming at him as he wrapped his arms around her – cradling her now in such a way that as her body began to shake in earnest, he was quite literally holding her up._

 _Backing himself up, he escaped with her into the deepest corner the space, pressing his lips to the crown of her head where he breathed her in and held her in place – her muffled cries of anguish, the soundtrack for the moment – her nose pressed into his chest, her arms low around his back._

 _Swaying with her in the darkness now, Tom stilled his heart and listened as her cries diminished, replaced now by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. And it was here that he held her steady and waited … waited for her to collect those tiny pieces of herself that had surely fallen away when she chose to unburden her woes, even if for only a lost moment in time._

 _He didn't say anything and he didn't have to. Because he knew she was all right – this much he was sure of – for he knew Rachel well enough to know that she, in all likelihood, had long-since identified with Ashley and Sam regarding the shared losses of their mothers. And informing them of this similarity was a matter of great importance to her. From reading her personnel dossier, Tom was aware her mother was deceased … he just hadn't been privy to the dire circumstances of her passing or that Rachel was just a girl at the time of her death._

He exhaled and pulled back slightly, cupping his hands around her angular face as she found his eyes in the dark. He smiled and kissed her cheeks and then her mouth where he lingered as she kissed him back. "Can I get anything for you?" he murmured. "Water … Motrin … a stiff drink?" he added with a wry grin.

"No …," she chuckled. "Just this … you and I sequestered away like this … is enough for now," she whispered before she leaned up and kissed the underside of his neck directly over his pulse-point wherein his heart raced and a reactive flutter vibrated against her mouth.

Without another thought, Tom ducked his head down and kissed her sweet mouth, his hands moving down to the column of her neck – _his fingertips holding her skull in place_ – right where he wanted her, for now and all time. Pausing with his eyes closed, he kissed her quickly again before he set his forehead against hers and opened his eyes – _peering into her gateways_ – his spirit alighted as he stared at her. "You amaze me, Rachel …," he whispered then. "And … if I hadn't already fallen for you ...…," he smiled. "I would have, you know … back there, just now …," he asserted, tilting his head.

Rachel blinked; her glassy eyes, gorgeous and calm and full of clarity. Reaching up, she set her left hand along the plane of his cheek. "It's what we've done to one another …," she whispered slowly, her fingertips brushing along his lips. "Falling for you … so far … it's a dream come true …," she added, a whimsical smile forming on her face.

 _And so as they leaned into one another without hesitation and their lips met on the cusp of their bold declarations – swaying to a tempo set forth by their congruent heartbeats – the new couple wordlessly vowed to fully commit to their combined destiny._

 _For they could no longer deny that all paths led them here – to this cherished moment, alone and inside a shelter of their own making – thousands of miles away from where they first met … where their fates took a turn for the worst … and then, for the better._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 11**

 _Having parted from the children and Jed, Rachel sighed and smiled, surveying the small press corps that had been arranged to cover the brunch, which had turned into a bit of a three-ring circus as Michener attempted to gain not only public support for his administration, but for their ongoing mission to bring the cure to the world at large. Both admirable causes, though truth be told, she could have done with less pomp and circumstance. And from the stony look upon Tom's face – plus the obvious presence of a Naval security detail – she knew they were still on the same page._

 _Regardless, the mood was festive, yet structured within those Navy protocols and Rachel found that the busy, purposeful energy somewhat mitigated her more somber feelings with regards to the deluge of memories of her parents that had surfaced earlier. And she was happy for the distraction._

 _Her eyes moved around the space again, watching now as the jet pilots from Scott Air Force Base arrived along with several key ground troopers that would accompany the island-based tac-teams on their mission. Rachel smiled politely as she was introduced to the pilots and then to another more important officer she deemed to be an equivalent to Slattery along with several Army soldiers of varying ranks._

 _All military personnel were dressed in their more casual working uniforms as most would return to their shifts following the publicity junket, their own tac-teams included. Most importantly though, Rachel noted that all of the men and women appeared to be in good health. And overall, there was a buzz of excitement given that the mission was sanctioned by the Commander in Chief himself._

 _Presently, the group was informed that the Navy photo shoot and press opportunity would begin directly, and as such, the Nathan James tac-teams were escorted to an empty portion of the ballroom, just beyond a floor-to-ceiling partition. Once inside, it was easy to find their destination: a large, well-lit area in the far corner that was set and ready for the shoot, complete with a vast white studio backdrop positioned along the wall. As the crew walked in tandem with Michener toward the main event, Rachel felt the palm of Tom's hand against the small of her back, an unexpected gesture she found comforting._

She turned to him and he smiled, his intense eyes scanning hers. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

"So far, so good," she replied, matching his stride.

After several more introductions, followed by a string of conflicting instructions from various photographers for placement for the photos – _the team was positioned with Tom and Rachel at the forefront_ – flanked evenly by the balance of their tac-teams beginning with Slattery to Tom's right and Jeter on her left, the formation behind them resembling a large "V".

The principal photographer – _a man by the name of Mr. Philip Harley_ – stood before them on a raised platform now and nodded with satisfaction. He came off as an elitist; arrogant in his delivery. He wore a pair of khaki trousers along with a collared shirt, a burgundy cable knit sweater and a light tweed jacket. He seemed a seasoned newsman of about fifty years in age and his eyes – _though set close together_ – were both weathered and keen. He was tall and lean and wore his sandy colored hair parted on the side – _he was handsome; Rachel had decided_ – but in a bookish sort of manner that was certainly an anomaly amongst the military men in the room. Eventually, Michener smiled with approval, disarming the photographer slightly wherein Rachel watched his dark brown eyes crinkle around the edges, his more taciturn nature receding now as he smiled in return.

"All right, let's do this," Harley said to the team then before he pressed his eye into his lens and snapped several photos in rapid succession, flash bulbs reacting as he did. Before long he paused and looked down at the LCD on his camera, likely toggling a screenshot capability. He nodded with approval and then looked up. "Ah, all right … let's go again," he barked. "And this time … Captain Chandler, why don't you put your arm around Dr. Scott?" he suggested casually before peering into his lens again.

 _And it was here that the bustle of activity seemed to come to a slow, grinding halt. On alert, she hesitated before she turned her attention to Tom and waited for his signal along with every other Navy man and woman in the room._

Harley raised his head. "Captain? Something wrong?" he queried directly. Rachel's heart raced.

"No," Tom answered and cleared his throat. "But it is possible we have different ideas about the purpose of this mission, Mr. Harley," he proposed.

Slattery moved forward two steps as did Jeter, who now stood shoulder to shoulder with Rachel. She turned to him and held his gaze for beat, his dark eyes were calm and unwavering as expected. She smiled weakly and he nodded in assent, assuring her without words.

"Perhaps …," Harley began. "Though I think I can speak for all of us – _the press in the room, that is_ – that we've been well-briefed on this mission and the nature of it and the stakes involved," he persisted, nodding in assent to Michener.

"Well then you understand, the Navy does not sit photo-ops in the traditional sense," Tom deflected. "We're military personnel and with that comes a degree of professionalism predicated upon our many protocols," he elaborated.

Slattery took another step forward and glanced at Tom whom nodded in assent. "Mr. Harley, it wouldn't be … _natural_ … for the Captain to sit for these photos in a relaxed stance," the XO said then. "We have a strict no fraternization protocol and it wouldn't be within the norm for us to stand so … _informally_ in mixed company for a mission-related photograph," he clarified, his voice clipped.

Harley chuckled under his breath. "Well **that** policy can certainly be refuted," he challenged, nodding beyond Rachel to Foster and Green, who'd been positioned next to one another.

Slattery followed his gaze. "Well, not that we're obligated to explain ourselves to you, but they were reprimanded …," he reported, his broad shoulders squaring off.

Harley smiled again. "Except from where **I'm** standing, that reprimand didn't stop her pregnancy … or as rumor has it, their pending nuptials," he persisted evenly.

It was Tom who stepped forward this time. "And must I remind **you** , Mr. Harley," he began. "That **also** from where you're standing … you are one-hundred percent immunized against this virus now," he interjected, his eyes steely blue, dark and unfettered. "I saw you … that day in the courtyard when we made landfall here," he went on. "I saw you – _desperate and hopeful_ – just like everyone else, I also remember seeing you at Michener's swearing in …," he elucidated, his voice low.

Harley tilted his head and stepped off of his platform and approached. "I was there … and you're right, I was _'desperate and hopeful'_ …," he contemplated, his voice softer now, his combative edge waning.

"And without our efforts – _you agree, you wouldn't be resting so easy these days, sleeping like a baby every night_ – instead of worrying about getting sick …," Tom challenged.

"You're right again, Captain," Harley acquiesced.

Tom nodded. "And so … for us to stand here and defend ourselves and the protocols of the United States Navy and what this crew has endured in the name of saving what precious life was left here on earth … … well, I'm sure you can see, from where **I'm** standing …. that's just beyond crazy," he asserted, his jaw set as he too, squared off.

 _Rachel's heart twisted and she sighed somewhere deep inside, her thoughts swirling now as she attempted to keep up with everything all at once, a barrage of memories playing akin to a movie deep within her mind's eye ..._

 _Tom's eyes as she informed him about the virus for the first time, alarmed and horrified. The makeshift morgue on the Italian Cruise Ship. Neils Sorensen. Patient Zero. The foreign feeling of the gun in her hand as she shot that Russian guard. Nicaragua. El Toro. Dead monkeys. Master Chief and Garnett during the vaccination trials. Dr. Hunter's dead body. Ramsey's teddy bears. Michener's suicide attempt. The oil rig._

 _And Neils' corpulent lungs in her hands: an eye for an eye for an eye …_

 _Steadying herself now, Rachel felt tears form at the corners of her eyes wherein she craned her neck back to push them into recession. She cupped her left hand under her right elbow in an effort to cradle her arm and release the stress discharging there. Michener stepped forward and offered her a tissue, his eyes scanning hers. She accepted it and shook her head. Tom, Slattery and Jeter turned their attention to her._

"There's no explaining any of this, to anyone," she asserted practically then, her eyes fixed on Harley's. He tilted his head and she looked back to Tom. "It doesn't warrant explanation …," she appealed. "What we've done … what we've **had** to do …," she insisted urgently, her voice trailing off, her eyes vacillating over his now before she turned back to Harley and Michener. "That's **our** business … that time in **our** lives … that mission, it belongs to us!" she defended ardently.

Michener nodded slowly. "I suppose you're correct, Dr. Scott …," he conceded. "But here's the deal … _yes_ … this is a military operation, but of course it's the humanitarian piece of it that's the real important part – **_your_** _part, the science of it all_ – and I know that we've just come from an environment of fighting the last fight again and again … but at this point, in order to rebuild _anything_ , we need to restore hope …," he wagered diplomatically.

"And we're not disputing that, Mr. President," Tom interjected, holding his own.

Michener exhaled. "Look, we've spoken about this, ordinary people – _the American people_ – just want to feel hopeful again, they **want** to hear humble stories of survival …," he began. "And whether you know it or not … that is **your** story – _that's the story of the crew of the Nathan James, the last ship_ – when all was lost … when **I** was lost … this crew, this **Captain** … saved me …," he sighed, his eyes pinned to Tom's for a beat before he turned back to Harley. "And **I'm** immune!" he chuckled incredulously. "And so … maybe you can imagine they saved me in a great many other ways than just beyond this health crisis," he smiled, his heartfelt words resonating now. "You can imagine that can't you, Mr. Harley?" he wondered, maintaining the peace.

"I can …," the photographer smiled sincerely.

"There has to be a middle ground here, people …," he suspired then, silently making his appeal to Tom.

"Captain Chandler … I apologize for any offense that was made …," Harley conceded then. "But the President is correct, people want to see all of you – _the real people behind the cure_ – they want to see what **I** want to see …," he smiled crookedly. "They want to see the family you've become – _your family_ – as you stand here together," he articulated, shaking his head.

"And I can appreciate that," Tom replied with a curt nod.

Harley exhaled. "And about my suggestion before, well, it was benign … it _was_ ," he insisted. "It's just … rumor has it … that you and Dr. Scott are a couple …," he sighed, tilting his head, his critical eyes still softer around the edges. Rachel's heart trembled. "And if you are … then you're likely the most powerful couple in the world at the moment," he sighed, his eyes moving between Rachel and Tom now. "And people want to root for you – _for the both of you_ – **and** for this mission …," he insisted. "This isn't just the puff piece of the week … it's about the fabric life and how it's woven, _differently_ … out of _necessity_ … and out of _survival_ in the here and now …," he articulated evenly.

 _Turning to Tom, Rachel waited for him to take the lead, for she knew the team was well aware of the development of their relationship – though ousting themselves publicly – opening themselves up to criticism in the court of public opinion was something entirely different. A backdrop that could undermine his authority as a Naval Captain, and very well discredit him as the future Chief of Naval Operations. For if the news media people were the same as they had always been, well … she was sure their blossoming relationship would come under fire for an array of reasons._

 _Add to all of that, their sincere desire for privacy and their utmost concern for the children – of course she would hedge now – despite her sudden urge to declare how mad she was for him, this man of her dreams. And then her heart stilled as his gaze met hers and the world fell away for a beat, wherein she intuited how he wanted to proceed and so without words … she consented._

"Well …," he smiled tightly, slipping his warm hand against hers. "We are … together," he acknowledged. "We're –,"

"New at this," Rachel finished for him with a small smile. Her heart fluttered.

Tom smiled in tandem and agreed, "It's new."

"It is," she concurred quietly, her eyes tenaciously pinned to his: _blue, clear, not a storm in sight._

Tom pressed his lips together and Rachel followed his gaze around the room, quietly appreciating the support of the crew – _her eyes connecting with each of these people she held so dear_ – as any woman would of her family.

Tom squeezed her hand and addressed the press corps. "How many of you plan to write on the human interest angle?" he asked of them then. Every hand was soon raised along with a murmur from the small crowd of reporters. And then the room went quiet, waiting for the Captain to make his call. He made cursory eye contact with Slattery and Jeter; both officers nodded in assent. "All right, Mr. Harley, you've got your moment," he exhaled. "Position us as you wish and let's make it quick," he ordered.

Rachel smiled as Tom draped his arm along her shoulders, his confidence contagious as Slattery and Jeter retreated back and into position. Michener, ever appreciative, nodded in assent and moved off to the side. And then with little effort a series of indelible photographs were taken.

 _And much later still – as the years would go by – Rachel would find herself looking upon this set of photographs. Her heart stilling as her eyes would move slowly and purposefully over each person's face until she had memorized their tiny nuances by heart – including her own face where she could find that faint sparkle in her eyes – a glimmer of that renewed hope everyone so desperately sought._

 _The photographs would come to stand as a record of that moment in time where she could readily see the history of their collective journey etched in her shipmates' eyes. And know that the beleaguered voyage of the Nathan James was beyond them, but not forgotten, their eyes pinned on the future instead – to an invisible horizon set forth by their fearless commander, Captain Thomas Chandler – a great man, revered by many … and loved madly by her._

 _###_

 _The simple, yet elegant brunch concluded without further hiccups as Mr. Harley was more courteous, having dined with Tom and Rachel, Slattery and Jeter along with Michener and several of the more high-ranking officers from the Army and Air Force. Rachel found the conversation was smooth and engaging and polite for mixed company._

 _Taking advantage of a lull in conversation now, her eyes swept the room, making note of the armed ensigns at every access point. She sighed and wondered whom might follow her if she politely excused herself to the ladies' room. She smiled ruefully and supposed she ought to get used to the idea of security details considering the company she now kept. Not to mention the need for her own safety as her mind quickly circled around the Inaugural Ball and what, if anything, they could have done to prevent the shooting. She was safe, she reminded herself … but that didn't halt the shiver running up her spine or the reflexive pain radiating from her shoulder._

 _Forcing a 'mind over matter' practice now, she continued her survey of her surroundings wherein she found herself smiling as she watched the children sitting at a nearby table with Tex and Jed. Her heart alighted by their health and well-being, noticing how Kathleen's smile reached her eyes. Exhaling, she felt a pang of something then – perhaps longing – and reflexively set her hand low along her abdomen and let the heat of her palm soothe her emotional ache off loss. A wild card image of her dream-baby appeared but he was quickly replaced by images of her parents, her father in particular. She shook her head and pushed those more maudlin thoughts away._

 _Switching gears, she turned just in time to watch Green and Burk chortle together, reacting to something as they sat with Taylor (of course) and Cruz and Miller and to her surprise, Bacon! She smiled at their antics and thought of them that night at the Inaugural Ball, so happy and healthy and accomplished. A moment in time when everything seemed so easy … until the shooting. Gathering her senses again, she pushed her mind beyond the shooter in the hallway. Beyond his sinister eyes. Beyond the barrel of his gun and how terrified she felt in those final seconds before he aimed and fired._

 _Her pulse raced. Shifting in her seat to avoid an unnecessary flare-up of stress, she focused instead on yet another table of attendees. And it was here that she smiled broadly as a set of unexpected tears pricked at her eyes. For there in the corner was a table of women – one that didn't look out of place – but instead as if they were the very center of the celebration … a table of women she trusted immeasurably. And there inside that moment, Rachel realized that perhaps she'd never felt that way before – about the endurance of friendships – and then it hit her again, that these women were more than friends, more than even family … they were her shipmates. Another point won for the United States Navy._

 _She blinked hastily and watched Kara sit back and set a comforting hand along her flourishing belly, her smile pure and gorgeous as Garnett looked on with happiness, the sadness typically seen in her eyes vanishing for a split-second as she doted on her young friend. Val, Alisha and Bertrise were there too … all sweet-faced and happy and so healthy she lost herself in them for a beat in time._

" _You know … if you want to join them, my feelings won't be hurt,"_ came Tom's deep baritone. Rachel gently fell out of her trance and turned around, seduced by his playful eyes as he leaned toward her slightly. "Hello …," he smiled just for her.

"Hello to you too …," she smiled, meeting him halfway, reacting to his magnetism. "I'm just fine where I am," she whispered with her same smile, her cheeks flushed from their proximity.

Tom smiled tightly and folded his napkin. "A penny for them …," he requested softly then, holding her deep inside the private moment.

Rachel smiled at his intuition, but before she could answer several of the men at their table stood to depart. She and Tom rose to bid them farewell.

Master Chief moved around the table and approached. "Captain … if it's permissible, I would also like to take my leave," he stated. "I'll circle back at the evening debrief," he pressed on with a smooth smile.

"Of course, take the time while you can, Master Chief," Tom nodded in assent.

Michener and Slattery walked around the table now and shook hands with the other military personnel as they too, took their leave. The duo approached. "Captain, I'd like to have a word with you and XO Slattery, if I might," Michener requested, his hand set on Tom's shoulder. "How about my office in thirty?" he suggested lightly, his spirits high.

"Of course," Tom smiled at the men, nodding in assent to Slattery.

The men took their leave and Rachel stood with Tom as she followed Michener's circuit while he stopped to engage with a small group of reporters, flanked by the judge and an Army staffer, all trailed by two armed ensigns. Slattery nodded and moved to sit down next to Wolf Taylor.

" _Alone at last,"_ Tom muttered playfully, his eyes on the scene before them.

Rachel glanced at him and smiled. "Something like that …," she smirked. "You know … after those photos and articles are published …," she sighed, her voice trailing off as she collected herself. "There's no turning back …," she exhaled, her mind wild with the implications of making their new relationship public.

Tom sighed and turned to face her, a small smile cascading along his handsome face. "For the record …," he said softly. "I never wanted to turn back," he asserted, quietly assuring her.

"Nor I," she replied, meeting his steady gaze.

 _###_

 _After Tom departed to meet with Michener, Rachel spoke briefly with Milowsky, confirming with him that she and Tom and a small tac-team would be headed to the James at first light to pick up her supplies from the lab, including the boosters for Jed and the children. Thereafter, she asked Ashley and Kathleen to join her at the 'women's table' where they sat for a long while fully ensconced within the high spirited energy of the day until some of the ladies departed, leaving behind a foursome: Rachel, Kara, Kathleen and Ashley._

 _Presently, Rachel listened to the girls as they peppered Kara with questions about babies and how it felt to be pregnant. And ever a good sport, Kara answered their inquiries with a bright, open smile. For there was no hiding her supreme happiness. And Rachel was glad for it, for unbridled happiness such as Kara's was also contagious._

 _Smiling to herself, she once again was reminded of just how precious life was, for it was no secret that the Foster-Green baby meant a lot to a great many people. For this baby was a sign … a validation of sorts that everything they fought for was not in vain. And that the surviving crew of the Nathan James would indeed live on and prosper. It was proof. And as a scientist, sometimes that was all Rachel ever really wanted. Proof and validity._

 _She sighed and watched as Kara set Ashley's palm along her belly. A wave of mixed emotions pummeled her then and without warning she felt a pinch of remorse … an incalculable regret. Her chest tightened and she was reminded of her mother and her death … and of Flora Island … and of her treasured dream all at once. Her heart trembled and a stock image of her dream-baby appeared again – his eyes as blue Tom's, his cherubic aura peaceful and untarnished – and therein, a set of fat tears mounted and she could do little else but mourn him again, this figment of her heart's desire._

 _Her pulse raced and she desperately clawed her way back to reality, forcing herself to banish those more negative thoughts as they applied to her beautiful dreamscape. She exhaled and let it all go, smiling at Kara as Danny called for her and she and Ashley stood and moved to the other table. She watched them go, realizing all at once that Kathleen didn't join them and instead had become rather quiet. Tex tilted his head from his seat, his brow knitted with concern. Rachel pinned her eyes to his and smiled._

Leaning closer, she maintained her eye contact with him for a beat longer before she draped her arm along the girl's trim shoulders and whispered to her, "Are you okay, love?"

Kathleen smiled but her eyes glassy eyes betrayed her. "Yes," she replied softly. "Just thinking about my Mom," she sighed, her delicate features awash with unspoken anguish.

Rachel winked at Tex and then gave Kathleen her full attention. "You know, I was thinking about my mother earlier today too," she confided.

"Really?" Kathleen wondered.

"Yes … even though she's been gone a long time ….…," Rachel exhaled, her voice suddenly small as she tried to formulate her thoughts into words. "But … sometimes she just appears – _deep in my mind_ – she comes to the surface and when she does … I allow myself to bask in her memory … the good memories," she explained gently.

"But I'm not …," Kathleen began, her lip trembling slightly. "I wasn't ready … for this …," she mumbled, her eyes downcast, she twirled her linen napkin with her fingers.

"Nor was I …," Rachel confided, finding her troubled eyes. "But I … overcame her death – _not completely, you never really will get over it_ – but you will see, as time moves on … life won't be … _impossible_ without her …," she counseled, doing her best to maintain her composure.

"And now you're all right …," Kathleen whispered, somewhere between a statement and a question. Tilting her head up, she innocently scrutinized Rachel.

"I am … I've taken care of myself for a long while already," Rachel answered candidly.

"Then I know I'll be all right too … eventually," the brave girl sighed heavily.

"You will …," Rachel encouraged, giving her a small squeeze along her shoulders. "Plus … you have your father," she smiled broadly, stifling thoughts of her own father and how divergent they became.

Kathleen's whole face brightened. "Yeah … I do," she smiled.

"And he's something else," Rachel chuckled.

"Yeah, he is," Kathleen giggled, her happiness and relief, evident.

"You know … he wanted nothing more than to find you …," Rachel informed her then. "He's a good person, your father – _when I was deeply alone in my work on the ship_ – most of the time, he was my only friend … a true friend … and a brave one at that …," she reflected. "Did you know he allowed me to trial a flu vaccination on him?" she wondered then.

"Yes …," Kathleen smiled, small tears formed in her eyes.

"He was so very brave," Rachel nodded, her own emotions evident now. "So you see … everything is so … connected now… and for me to know that you found one another again – _and survived this mess and are healthy and safe_ – it somehow makes the whole mission worth it," Rachel smiled, suddenly feeling validated.

"Thank you for saving my Dad … and for being his friend," Kathleen whispered then, her voice trembling.

"Oh, sweet girl," Rachel whispered in return, drawing her closer again. "I'm so happy for you," she exhaled, her heart alighted, for it seemed Kathleen's pure happiness was also contagious.

 _###_

 _A short while later, Rachel sat with Jed and Tex in the alcove of the library looking on as the children played a competitive game of Monopoly while sipping hot cocoa at a nearby coffee table. A beautiful fire raged in the large fireplace, which was the focal point of the main lobby and accessible to all patrons with sofas situated around its perimeter._

 _Feeling exhausted – but unwilling to let it show – Rachel casually fished for a Motrin from her bag and took it with a swill of her lukewarm green tea. Her shoulder ached, not nearly to the degree that it had a week ago, but it ached nonetheless. Tex and Jed eyed her carefully but she only smiled in response and sat back and into the comfortable sofa._

"You should call it a day, Doc," Tex suggested then, tilting his head as he regarded her.

"Not yet, old friend," Rachel replied, her eyes scanning his. "I'd like to see Tom … here, more casually, before the debrief this evening," she explained with a small smile.

"Ah, the debrief," Tex sighed wistfully with longing. He shrugged, "I sure wish I was goin' with you guys."

"That ship has sailed, no pun intended," Jed snorted, eyeing his friend carefully.

"I know, I know," Tex rebuked playfully. "But a guy can dream, can't he?" he smirked.

Jed shook his head and glanced at Rachel. "I suppose so, but –"

"My place is here, with Kathleen … it's time to rebuild …," Tex finished for him with a smarmy smile, shaking his head in mock-defeat.

Rachel smiled. "I assume you've had this debate before," she chuckled.

Then men glanced at one another and snorted. "You could say so, yes," Jed smirked.

"Yes, Doc … we have," Tex declared formally, raising his mug of coffee to his lips. He took a sip of the elixir and then turned to watch the children for a beat. He sighed and then connected his eyes with Rachel's. "You reckon she'll be all right?" he wondered.

"I do …," Rachel replied, because it was the truth.

"She's had to grow up so fast, I worry about her," he confided, pressing his lips together. "Was she upset before?" he wondered, his voice quiet. "She seemed … she had that forlorn look in her eyes …," he went on softly. "This look I've seen her get – _but I don't want to pry_ – I'm thinking she's gotta be thinking about her Mom …," he rambled. "Like I said … she's had to grow up … right outta nowhere and I was powerless against it," he exhaled, his weathered eyes glassy now.

"Don't do that to yourself … you may have been absent before, but you're one hell of a good father," she affirmed passionately.

Jed smiled. "Couldn't have said it better myself…," he nodded in assent

 _Her eyes moved between the men then, her thoughts gravitating toward her own father and how, in contrast, he_ ** _had_** _the power to curtail her mother's illness – to change the direction of their lives – but left it up to fate. Fate and faith, were they truly misguided ideals or were they meant to be? She swallowed hard; Tom on her mind now._

Tex exhaled and collected himself. "Lord knows I'm trying …," he replied, a small satisfied smile on his face now.

"These kids … they've all had to grow up on the spot … to endure …," Jed offered simply, tilting his head as head, his steadfast eyes pinned to Rachel's now. "But with the right support from us … they will fair better than most," he assured and then he turned to Tex. "And don't worry friend – _you're right where you need to be_ – just like you were when the Nathan James overtook Guantanamo Bay," he surmised evenly with admiration.

 _Rachel smiled weakly, her eyes pinned to Tex's now. He sat back then and turned his full attention to the children, a genuine smile fracturing his downcast face before long. She watched him for a moment longer before she took another sip of her tepid tea and sat further back, the Motrin in full play now as she felt the dull, persistent ache ebb slightly. She exhaled and allowed herself to mentally accept the pain medicine, her nerve-endings snapping into place as she did. Her heart rate slowing down now as she focused on Jed's eyes for a beat, realizing that he was surely revisiting their conversation with the children earlier, knowing now, that she too, was forced to grow up at an early age … without a choice._

" _Well, if this isn't a motley crew,"_ came Tom's deep baritone as he stepped into the library. "Why all the serious faces?" he wondered as he approached.

"It's a serious game, Dad," Ashley deadpanned innocently. Everyone laughed.

Tom smirked at her. "The way you play it, yes it is …," he chuckled at her competitive spirit.

He set his palm on the halo of Sam's head then. The boy looked up and smiled brightly. "Hi Daddy," he said happily, his eyes pinned to his father's.

"Hi Buddy," Tom answered, he tousled his hair and took a seat next to Rachel. "You know I wasn't talking about them, right?" he said conspiratorially, his voice low, his playful eyes scanning the trio of adults.

"I gathered," Rachel smiled, losing herself within the depths of his eyes … _so happy to be alone with him in room full of people._ She smiled and surreptitiously checked on him, while he did the same.

"It was nothing …," Tex said, breaking their spell. "Just was wishing I was goin' with you Comrade," he admitted then.

Tom smiled and leaned forward on his knees. "Would be old times by now," he deemed thoughtfully.

"Would be, wouldn't it?" Tex agreed with a grin.

Tom sighed. "Except I like to think, you're finally where you need to be …," he nodded. "Where you were meant to end up … after everything …," he added, his all-seeing eyes looking upon his confidant with admiration and compassion. "And there's a lot of work to be done, right here – _especially when we return_ – and you know, I want you on my team," he said, his sincerity palpable.

 _Rachel watched the men now as they continued to talk – so taken by their capacity to support and do right by one another – so inspired by the way in which they coveted one another, that she suddenly realized she was sitting amongst the finest father figures she'd ever known. She could perhaps have added Dr. Hunter to the short list. But right here, right at this moment – she felt their collective energy, their powerful, protective stance – and was completely enthralled by her faith in their willingness to do_ ** _anything_** _for their children. She shook her head and privately admired them, small tears of happiness pricking at her eyes. Fatherhood … parenthood … this was what it was all about._

She exhaled heavily on these sentiments and it turned into a small yawn, one she tried to stifle, but not before Tom turned to her. She smiled sheepishly at him, her cheeks flushed. "My apologies," she smirked.

"You're growing tired," he deemed thoughtfully, his eyes glistening against the firelight.

"Motrin," Rachel replied with a small smile. The trio of men chuckled in response.

Jed sighed. "Well, I'm tuckered and I didn't take anything …," he said in earnest and made to stand.

Rachel, Tom and Tex stood as well. Tex flashed her a smile and sauntered over to the children where he promptly sat down.

"Far be it for me to spoil the party …," she sighed. "But I'll admit, I'm fading fast now," she conceded gracefully.

Tom set his hand upon the small of her back. "Why don't you both go up … it's going to be a long few days from here on out …," he suggested to them. "I'll stay with the kids until they wrap up their game … and bring them up before the debrief," he planned aloud.

"The debrief …," Rachel sighed; her face fell slightly as Tom eyed her carefully.

"You know, it's really a matter of formality…," he intuited then, tilting his head, his calm eyes scanned hers. "Our plan hasn't changed and won't change … I see no need for you to attend," he navigated, careful not to overstep.

"You're sure? You know I like to pull my own weight," she persisted, thinking now about the message that might send to the team. She sighed with frustration.

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't suggest it …," he replied with an easy smile. "Trust me," he appealed to her, a twinkle in his eyes, his charm on full display.

"Of course … always …," she breathed, her eyes dancing with his; her cheeks blushed and gave her away. "So … this works?" she confirmed, clearing her throat.

"It works," Tom smiled, his eyes trained on hers. "Dad?" he queried, turning to Jed.

"Sounds like a fine idea," his father nodded in assent, a broad smile on his face as he watched the new couple.

 _###_

Having showered and kept her promise to bid the children goodnight, Rachel presently sat in an armchair in the living area of the suite and waited for Jed to emerge from their bedroom. She smiled and hunkered into her oversized sweater, her damp hair swept up and into a messy bun. Her skin still warmed from the inside from her hot shower.

She exhaled into the spacious room and listened with a strained ear to their animated chatter as her eyes dipped shut of their own accord for the second time within a few minutes. Exhaustion claimed her quickly then as she ruminated about tucking the children in for the first time. A reflexive smile cascaded along her face now as she thought about Sam's outstretched arms as he hugged her tightly before he slipped under the comforter and became lost in a sea of earth-toned textiles.

She sighed heavily and regulated her breathing – _Ashley's giggle floating through the air_ – her melodic voice retreating now as Rachel's eyes became heavier and even heavier still until she was powerless against the darkness that invited her inside … deep within her own sanctuary of slumber.

 _###_

 _Once there, she trained her ears to find children's voices, their prattle still twirling within the shadows of her mind – she felt warmer and more comfortable – the tension lodged within her shoulder dissipating now until it was barely there at all._

 _She inhaled sharply and was met with a familiar combination of essences, the air both sweet and salty, her skin warmer as if heated by the sun – her senses piqued now as she listened to Sam's sequel of delight along with the echo of the waves crashing against the coastline. She smiled into herself and further relaxed into her pillow … her mind, euphoric … her body lighter than air._

" _Do you think they'll ever fall asleep?" came Tom's voice from somewhere far away._

 _Rachel opened her eyes where she found her lover in the semi-darkness and promptly rolled into his innate heat and he, into hers, where they instinctively wrapped themselves around one another – her ear pressed to his bare chest, his fingertips caressing her spine over the thin silk of her tank top – his chin pressed to her halo, her free hand over his heart. He smelled of aftershave and the ocean and aloe-vera._

" _Almost …," she whispered her reply with a sleepy smile, savoring his heat, for it was true, she simply could not get enough of this man. "Anytime now," she breathed happily, craning her neck up where she found his eyes … happy and replete._

 _Tom shifted then and slipped his hand beneath her tank top, his fingertips grazing the waistline of her panties before he palmed her toned tush and smirked playfully. "Vacation … at last," he muttered, setting his free hand along her flushed face._

 _Her own giggle hung in the relative silence now as she crawled up and effortlessly straddled him before he met her halfway and kissed her languidly with his minty mouth. And so with her hands pinned to his shoulders and her knees pinching his thighs, their open-mouthed kisses and succinct caresses of their tongues set the tempo for their perfect, instinctive dance of seduction they had mastered over their years together._

 _Tom's warm hands moved to her skull where he held just where he wanted her, making leisurely love to her mouth, her core rapidly ignited as his cock began to stir against her responsive womanhood. Her toes curled. His supple lips found her neck and his hands moved beneath her tank top where she broke their oral union and he slipped the offending garment over her head. Wasting no time, he peppered her exposed flesh with a series of hot kisses, paying careful attention to her scar tissue where she knew he would lose himself for a small private moment – his arms under hers with his hands splayed gently against her back – his lips massaging her clavicle as he held her still._

 _Rachel naturally craned her neck back and gave her lover the access he desired – his hot tongue caressing her puckered flesh, her arousal for him brought to the forefront as he nipped and suckled her tender pressure points … his lips always a perfect fit. A euphoric haze covered them now akin to a protective cloak – her wild eyes pinned to the thatched roof of the cottage, both familiar and foreign and quiet now, save for her moans of pleasure and the crescendo of the waves crashing against the coast._

 _Small tears of happiness pricked at her eyes wherein she once again realized just how far they had come together over the years – and then she felt it again, just as she had from time to time when they would talk about it, 'being ready' – yes, she felt it now … the tiny flutter of desire, low and deep, her pelvic muscles responding … provoking her to yearn for more … urging her to share her heart's desires._

" _Tom …," she breathed his name, this man who had become her soul mate, her lover and best friend. A man she knew she could not live without._

 _Her heart shuddered and she held on tight, raising her head where she found him in the darkness, his eyes hooded with desire – her name falling from his lips again and again – his tone, deep, intimate … the one he saved just for her. She smiled and held his skull in her capable hands – her heart racing with anticipation – his cock hard and ready for her. She shifted and evocatively pressed herself against him, her more feral desires awake now too, slick against the thin barrier of her cotton panties._

 _She stilled herself then, halting all movement as she kissed her man, his hot breath fanning her face as she pulled back and set her forehead against his, their labored breathing and her heartbeat, the soundtrack for the moment as she whispered her plea to her lover, "I'm ready."_

 _A genuine smile appeared on Tom's face and he drew her even closer, savoring the moment, his eyes crinkling with a happiness so unbridled it almost hurt to look at him. "You're ready to try …," he repeated thickly wherein the deep pools of his eyes became glassy with unkempt emotion. "You want a baby …," he breathed, his voice cracked between them._

 _Her heart raced and two tiny tears popped from her eyes and slid down her face. "I do …," she whispered. "Yours … ours …," she affirmed, her breathing stacked._

 _He smiled and neither one of them moved as the world fell away until only they remained, tenaciously holding on to another – eye-to-eye, mouth-to-mouth – her aroused nipples cutting across his chest, her mouth on his again as they breathed in tandem upon a precipice of their own making … a destiny … a fate … a baby … perhaps foretold when they first declared their love for one another._

 _Gracefully, Tom turned her in his arms and she lay back against the pillows, his all-seeing eyes fastened hers as she raised her hips and he leaned forward hooked his fingers onto the waistline of panties and pulled them down, his gentle hands tickling her as she kicked them from her feet and pulled him to her where his mouth found hers again. "I love you … so much," she whispered between kisses, her hands pinned to the waistband of his boxers._

" _And I love you …," he whispered thickly into her ear, his hot breath fanning her heated flesh, his mouth closing around her earlobe where he sucked. "So much … and for all time," he breathed, his hips reacting as she set his cock free and pushed his boxers down with her toes._

 _Nude and without abandon, Tom balanced himself on his hands now – the tip of his ready cock tickling her abdomen as he lingered there and kissed her neck and chest – leaning down, he volleyed his attention between her breasts for a beat before he came to her abdomen, barren for now, where he pressed feather-like, barely-there kisses to her flesh. He rolled to his side and set his hand low on her belly, his fingertips nestled along the perimeter of her well-trimmed womanhood. He exhaled and looked up to find her watching him, stealing her breath away as he smiled. She jackknifed her knee, inviting him inside._

 _Leaving his hand in place, he leaned up and kissed her soundly, his cock pressed against her outer thigh as he delicately found her tiny bundle of nerves and applied gentle pressure wherein her hips rose to meet his ministrations and her mind went wild with all that she craved and needed and therein – she set her hand on top of his – and held him there as her clit pulsed against the pad of his finger … pulse, pulse. Her folds became slick._

 _He smiled, dipping his finger through her folds for lubrication, her muscles went wild and he kissed her for good measure. "Tell me what you want, Rachel …," he breathed against her open mouth._

 _He began massaging her clit again, tenacious in his pursuit to get her off. She raised her hips to add pressure. The hair on her neck bristled. "I want to cum with you …," she answered urgently, moving her free hand to the shaft of his cock, she pressed her thumb over his slick opening. "I just want you … flesh against flesh … nothing else," she whispered._

" _Hmm, nothing between us …," Tom husked, his mouth on hers again as he gently slipped one, then two fingers along her folds before he pumped her core, her delicate muscles reacting again, clamping down – her abundant arousal wafting up and all around them – hot, pungent and made from everything he did to her._

" _Yes …," she whispered, her body, mind and spirit aligned now as he came to hover over her again and she opened her thighs wider to accommodate him, her hand still wrapped around his shaft as he teased her opening – his eyes pinned to hers as he entered her slowly – so slow, she could feel the flesh of her muscles move against the tiny ridges of his cock she knew so well and loved so much. No barrier, not even a thin covering of latex between them now._

" _Rachel …," came his warbled call and from his tone, she knew he felt the difference too. "Yours and mine," he whispered as he began to move within her, his tempo slow and meaningful, his dark blue gateways fastened to hers, his intensity so captivating she didn't dare close her eyes._

" _Ours …," she whispered, her heart racing at the thought of a baby made from their union._

 _Her soul along with the core of her being were wide open for him and ripe for the taking – her body on fire now as he made steadfast love to her, her knee lodged under his arm to allow for deeper penetration – their brand of heat and friction encapsulating them … their sex … hot, sticky and plentiful was suddenly all they needed._

 _With his mouth fused to hers, Tom leaned on one arm and snaked his hand between them, effortlessly locating her burgeoning clit where he gradually massaged her lubricated nerves into a frenzy – his tempo alternating with his cock now as he gently pounded her into oblivion – her release … so spectacular … she could hardly breathe. Her hands found his skull and she held him in place now, watching his eyes close tightly he came into her for the first time and it was a beautiful sight._

 _And moments later as his eyes opened and he lowered himself onto her, balancing on his forearms, her legs still wrapped around the small of his back, his cock softening inside of her – Rachel relished in the thought of the creation of a life with him … a life made of him and of herself – and therein, inside those finite seconds, she knew she had found her greatest joy. She knew she wanted this … with him._

 _She closed her eyes and he pressed tiny, wet kisses to her lips and cheeks and neck as she released her vaginal hold upon him where he slipped from her core and came to rest at her side – his head next to hers – his hand set low on her belly. She exhaled heavily and matched her breathing to his, listening also to the sound of the waves rolling against the shoreline and the palm trees dancing in the thick, humid wind circulating high above them._

" _Rachel …," came her lover's voice from far, far away again. She felt his familiar hand upon her forearm and then she opened her eyes._

 _###_

Her gasp hung in the cooler air and her heart pulsed rapidly. "Oh … my …," she husked, her face hot and flushed, her mind jarred the present, "Oh … God."

Tom smiled, his endless eyes scanning hers, the room dark, save for the soft light of the reading lamp. "I'm sorry … you're okay…," he whispered from his perch on the ottoman. He exhaled and moved closer, caressing her angular face with his hands now, his fingertips cool against her heated skin. "You fell asleep …," he murmured, pressing a small kiss to each of her flushed cheeks.

 _She exhaled sharply – unruly heat lingering in her core along with the feeling of his cock moving slowly inside of her – the balance of her dreamscape fading away with finality now as a residual orgasm zipped up her spine, committing itself to memory. And therein she stared at him still, knowing she truly had found the man of her dreams._

 _Seeking his heat and proximity, Rachel impulsively reached for him now and tilted her head up, her lips brushing against his where she pulsed her open mouth against his once, twice and then again._

 _She sighed into his mouth and realized she'd been asleep for some time – for he had not only returned from the debrief, but taken a shower as well – having donned a pair of casual sweatpants and a Nathan James t-shirt. He tasted of toothpaste and smelled of aftershave and shampoo and his hair was damp._

"Another dream?" he wondered breathlessly between kisses.

Unable and unwilling to lie to him, she whispered, "Yes."

Tom's breathing hitched and he laced his fingers through hers, his eyes sparkling with happiness as she stared at him and he at her for a long, private moment. "A good dream …," he marveled, not quite a question; he leaned in.

She met him halfway, her bated breath ricocheting between them. She answered truthfully again, "Yes."

"Will you tell me more this time?" he asked of her then, his face so close she could see tiny flecks of silver shimmering against the blue in his eyes.

Her heart leapt and she found herself smiling coyly before she finally gave him the answer he'd wanted since she woke up, "Yes."

She sighed and her eyes darted around the suite … they were alone and all was quiet. The clock in the corner told her it was just after eight. Tom followed her gaze. "If you want company tonight …," he began, his voice trialing off … low, intimate. "Under the advisement of my father – _we should take the time now_ – while we can …," he whispered with a flash of uncertainty moving along his handsome face.

Rachel reached up and set her good arm along his shoulder, her fingers nestled in the soft short hair at the nape of his neck. Emotion funneled to her surface and she blinked her tears back. "For the record …," she began before she kissed the underside of his neck just above his pulse. "I'll never say _'no'_ … never … not to you and I being truly alone …," she whispered against his flesh. "There's no turning back … remember …," she breathed, looking up to find him.

 _Tom hummed and ducked his head down where his mouth found hers and he kissed her quickly before taking her hands in his where they stood together. Kissing her again now, he wrapped his arms around her where they rocked slightly to a melody of their own making, their lips connected as he walked her backward toward the main door of the suite._

 _Rachel broke their kiss and slipped her hand inside the pocket of her sweater where she produced her key card. Twirling it between her fingers for a beat with her face flushed akin to a school girl … she handed the card to Tom … inviting him inside. And with that, they stepped out and into the well-lit hallway where they turned and headed for her suite … their sanctuary … their cottage on an island in the middle of nowhere … for now._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 12**

Tom held the door open for Rachel and she stepped over the threshold, once again aware of how alone they were. The lock clicked into place and all was quiet save for her wild mind. The suite was still humid and fragrant from her hot shower hours earlier; the only source of light was drawn from the small lamp on the bedside table. With the memory of her vivid dreamscape still very much a reality, she took a staggering deep breath and tried not to relive it … _to feel him everywhere all at once._

She made to move into the suite, but Tom set his hand upon her shoulder, a reflexive shudder zipped along her spine and it was here that she paused. "Hey … come here …," he said then, his hot breath tickling her neck. She turned around and looked up and into his eyes, glittering pools of depth in the semi-darkness. "I'm sorry about your mother …," he offered then, tilting his head. "I didn't say that outright this morning … and I wanted to," he asserted.

Rachel sighed and pressed her lips together, seeing now how plainly he was wearing his own sorrow – _Darien's loss still very much at the forefront_ – his protective instincts over the children (and of her, it seemed) were on high alert. She smiled at his sincere interest in recognizing her feelings.

She felt a modicum of her lingering stresses ebb and set her palm along the handsome plane of his cheek. "It happened a long time ago," she reasoned simply, her eyes trained on his, watching for signs of duress.

Tom shook his head. "I know … but it happened … and it happened to you," he articulated, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. She leaned into his lithe touch. "And suddenly I find that's very important to me … what's happened to you," he said gruffly, his eyes as glassy as still lake now, his hands moving to the small of her back.

 _Overcome by his candor, Rachel draped her wrists over his shoulders, her right side protesting slightly as she kissed him – the feeling of his mouth against hers, suddenly so familiar that she realized kissing him had become an extension of who she was – and quite literally overnight. Further disappearing into his embrace, she could do no more than return his kisses and allow herself to feel everything he did to her, to become lost in his familiar essence: raw, organic, sea and salt, aftershave, toothpaste and black coffee. Her heart raced and she slowed their tempo. The air between them, warm and familiar too._

 _She opened her eyes and found his gateways there, blue, clear and steady. She sighed and wondered how she might explain how she felt about it all, about everything: life, fate, destiny … doom. She opened her mouth, but found that she was speechless. Quite mystified by him still, she reached up and caressed his chin, smooth from his evening shave. She smiled and kissed him once more for good measure, her nose brushing against his as she did._

Pulling back, she saw how keen he was to read her. "What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" he muttered playfully, smoothing her flyaway tendrils away from her face before tracing his fingertips behind her ears and then down along her neck.

Her heart arrested and she shook her head in attempt to negate Tom's sentiment – _but lost herself inside of his energy instead_ – his simple caress awakening a desire for him she didn't expect. She sighed and found herself tongue-tied again and instead of answering, she slipped her hand into his and turned to move into the suite.

Exhaling, she attempted to explain how she felt. "For my whole life – _I wondered why that happened to me, to my mother_ – to my family …," she began softly, her voice trailing off as she turned to face him. "Would you care for some tea?" she asked distractedly then, the dull ache of her shoulder jabbing at her now.

"Sure," he answered and screwed up his face. She laughed and headed to the corner of the room where she turned the electric kettle on and looked beyond their reflections in the window in front of them. Tom came to stand next to her. "Go on …," he persisted gently.

She turned two clean mugs over. "Well … perhaps with this virus and everything that came with it … I am better able to infer **why** my history with my parents is so … _tragic_ , for lack of a better term …," she navigated carefully; she sighed. "What I mean to say is …," she paused and busied herself with opening the tea bags. She shook her head and glanced at Tom. "This whole idea of fate and destiny … it's hard to contend with as a scientist … and yet …," she breathed, her mind reeling over her work and her life choices and the **why** of it all, she dropped the tea bags into the mugs sighed, looking through the window again.

 _Tom snaked his arm around her waist, his fingers tracing the drawstring waistband of her yoga pants, his eyes on her reflection in front of them. She tilted her head, resting against his shoulder for a beat before she closed her eyes, losing herself within his innate heat._

" _You can say anything to me, you know …,"_ came his voice, both soothing and familiar.

She smiled and opened her eyes. "I know …," she said softly as the kettle came to life. She turned out of his embrace and backed up, her thoughts forming into words now. She paced for a beat before she stopped and came to stand at the window. Her reflection disappeared and she could see into the night sky, black and endless. The kettle popped and Tom came to stand next to her. "I suppose, lately I've been thinking that if my mother had not met her death in that manner, so abruptly and under those circumstances …," she exhaled, her eyes straining to see something, _anything_ in the darkness. "I don't know **who** I would be today," she whispered. "Or **where** … I would be …," she pondered her deeper thoughts.

" _I see …,"_ Tom said softly, setting his hand over hers on the windowsill.

Instinctively, she leaned into him again, her eyes still pinned on that invisible horizon, out there somewhere. "Her death made such an impression on me and understandably – _it set the course for my whole life_ – almost **everything** I have done is predicated upon how I felt about her passing and what my father did …," she exhaled, her heart in shambles now. "It's as if I had to fight against disease … fight to find the answers … fight to find the cures … **because** she wasn't privy to that, and when my father had the chance to fight **for** her, he didn't …," she huffed, miserable in her defeat, even now, after more than half of her lifetime.

" _Rachel …,"_ Tom sighed, appealing to her without words.

She sighed and turned back to him, this tower of a man she trusted so much. He tilted his head, his eyes vacillating over hers. "And so, you know – _I'm a believer in the polar opposite_ – I believe that **nothing** is impossible … and that people **deserve** to be saved by science … and yet, the girl I once was, **still** wonders … what might have happened and whom I might have been had she survived …," she breathed, her voice hitched and she looked away from Tom, once again searching the vast horizon for answers.

" _Rachel … in one way or another, we know this to be our fate … or destiny … and we've found ourselves here … somehow reconciling the impossible …,"_ Tom exhaled, ducking his head down to find her eyes. She looked up and he took her hand in his and twirled his fingers along hers. She smiled weakly; she blinked hastily. "Everything you are, Rachel – _everything you turned out to be_ – led you to this fight … to this mission … and the Nathan James …," he said with reverence, his eyes also glassy with emotion.

"And then … to you …," she whispered, blinking her tears away as she flanked her hands upon his face and kissed him.

"And then … to me …," he repeated against her open mouth, deepening their kiss, the cradle of his embrace holding her steady now.

 _###_

 _Having prepared the tea, Rachel and Tom moved to the small sofa where they presently sat, shoes off, her sweater unbuttoned – his free hand on her knee, her hand on top of his – seeking a connection. She smiled took a sip of her tea and silently checked on him – looking for signs of unease following the intensity of their conversation – for she worried about him quite a bit and though she knew he was coping and healing, she often second-guessed herself._

 _For somewhere – deep within her recesses, this place where she held her secrets close – there existed a small shadow of doubt … one that stemmed from the brazen way in which she dreamed of a life with him._

 _She tilted her head now and regarded him while he did the same. She pressed her lips into a thin line and held her tongue, as did he. She sighed and noticed – perhaps for the first time – how refreshed he seemed and how his level of stress had diminished. His eyes were softer around the edges too. And therein, she realized she was likely beginning to see the real Tom Chandler, the version of himself he might have been before the virus made its impact. She watched him take a cautionary sip of his tea and smiled at his reaction._

"I don't know how you do it," he deadpanned, his eyes dancing now, he set his mug down on the coffee table.

"It's not _that_ terrible," she retorted playfully. And then she smiled and raised her brow, "I actually do have something better. A treat."

"You do?" he wondered with a small smile of his own.

"I do," she winked and stood up, moving across the room to a small table where she pulled two mini cans of peaches from a paper bag. She held them up and smiled. "From Bacon," she said happily.

Tom's eyes brightened and he stood. "I didn't realize you two were so _close_ ," he teased unabashedly. "Sharing rations," he chortled as he approached.

Rachel doted on him. "Well, you must remember … Captain," she sassed. "That while you were off infiltrating the Immunes' compound, Bacon helped me in his kitchen with the modeling for the aerosolized cure," she explained. "And we became friends … and shipmates," she beamed, tilting her head up.

Tom nodded, his eyes pinned to hers. "Shipmates, how about that," he pondered, quite mystified as he reached for her. "Come closer …," he muttered thickly, his hands cupping her face before he ducked down and kissed her, his mouth a perfect fit.

Losing herself in him, she pulled back slightly, her hands set his against his rib cage. "So, do you want to ditch the tea and have some peaches?" she flirted, batting her long lashes.

Tom laughed at her antics, "Sure."

And with that Rachel took the cans and padded to the small alcove bathroom. Tom followed her lead, stopping to turn the light on before he came to stand next to her at the sink. Everything was suddenly so bright. Rachel glanced at herself in the mirror in front of them and scrutinized her appearance: _her face was flushed, her bun had become a royal mess and she could plainly see her underlying fatigue._ She twisted her mouth into a thin line and looked up to find Tom watching her. She smiled weakly as she pushed the sleeves of her sweater up and began to rinse the cans. Tom chuckled and raised his brow.

"Germs," was all she said as she turned the water off.

Tom chuckled and she pulled the silver tab back and popped one can open. He grinned, watching her for a beat as she pressed the lid back in and held it under the water again. She rinsed the peaches and reached for a cup, they slid into the glass, bright and perfectly peachy. While she worked on the second can, Tom picked up one of the many bottles of serums and creams that were scattered along the perimeter of the sink.

He held one up and cocked his head. "May I?" he asked of her, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Sure …," she smiled.

He twisted the lid off and put his nose to the opening. "Where do you put this stuff?" he muttered.

Her giggle floated between them. "My hair … after I shower," she answered, her eyes pinned to his through the mirror now. She felt her cheeks heat.

"Hmm …," he hummed and moved to another bottle. "And this …," he said, unscrewing the top, he inhaled again.

"Arms, legs … everywhere, it's body cream …," she smirked and shook her head.

Smiling to herself, she rinsed the second can of peaches again and watched him curiously while he opened each product and inhaled. She reached for a second cup and poured the peaches into it. She wondered what on earth he was looking for and then suddenly she saw that he must have found it, for a capricious smile cascaded along his handsome face as he raised a small pot of deep, nighttime moisturizer to his nose.

"Found what you were looking for …," she sighed, turning to him.

"Hmm … yes," he smiled, closing the container. "You put this one on your face … and your neck," he surmised, drawing her into his arms, the world disappearing now.

"I do …," she replied softly, peeking up at him before she turned her head and looked into the mirror, their congruent fit, evident as she stared at their reflection for a long private moment.

Ducking down, Tom kissed her neck, breathing her in. "It's … intoxicating …," he muttered against her flesh, an impulsive shiver coursing through her as his mouth found her earlobe and he sucked. "You're intoxicating," he whispered then – _folding her into the envelope of his arms before he pressed his chin upon her halo_ – his eyes happy and sated as they found hers in the mirror.

"And so are you to me," she replied without hesitation.

 _###_

The couple retreated back to the sofa where they enjoyed the peaches, their easy conversation eventually interrupted via a chime from Rachel's tablet, which lay on the coffee table along with her copious files.

"Expecting something?" Tom wondered as he leaned back and into the sofa cushion, he wove his fingertips through hers.

She sighed. "Milowsky said he would send one last file to me tonight, that must be it," she explained as the tablet began to chime several times in rapid succession. She eyed the device carefully. "That's odd," she said and picked it up. She entered her passcodes and toggled her secure email, seeing now that she had received the email from Milowsky along with four additional messages, from none other than, Phillip Harley, her heart raced.

"They're from Phillip Harley," she informed Tom.

"Harley?" he pondered, his brow knitted. He sat up and Rachel moved to sit closer to him so they could look on together.

 _Tom set his chin upon her shoulder as she opened the first email which the photographer had sent to the both of them. It contained a note explaining that he was sending sending several large photo files, a preview of the layout he was planning to use for his article. The photographs, as they turned out, were indeed gorgeous and definitely did speak to the human side of things – for if one looked close enough at the subjects – one could readily see everything this fine group of people had been through: incalculable loss, acute sadness, recklessness, stress, perseverance, gratitude, nobility … and above all, the satisfaction of a mission completed._

Rachel glanced at Tom and then opened the last file labeled: _'Scott-Chandler, inset'_. After several long seconds the image appeared and covered the screen and as it did, her heart stilled and small tears flooded her eyes. For the very idea of seeing a photograph of she and Tom together seemed like a strange thing to become emotional about, but she was nonetheless.

There was just something about it – _the energy Harley managed to capture –_ Tom's arm around her, his face as handsome as ever, his eyes, clear and steady and therein she once again saw the glimmer of the man she'd seen earlier … the one that said without words, that he was all right. She tapped the screen and the photo zoomed in a frame or two and it was here that her own restless spirit caught her eye, for in her lifetime – _Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever been that happy or sated_ – and it was beyond surreal to see it emanate from her now. _It was proof._ She blinked hastily and Tom pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

"Look at us …," she whispered, turning to find his eyes, wherein he moved forward an inch and kissed her quickly.

"Hmm, peaches," he muttered seductively against her lips.

Rachel laughed and suddenly Tom's infectious happiness was all she cared about. She stared at him for a long private moment. "We look happy …," she declared then, turning her attention back to the image.

"We _are_ happy, Rachel …," Tom established, sliding his arm around her waist.

 _###_

Following a deeper discussion about finding an opportunity to speak to the children before they might see the soon-to-be published photographs – _Rachel glanced at the clock and sighed, their night alone was ticking away_ – for it was just before ten now and they had to be up early. Feeling somewhat anxious, she focused on the task at hand instead and released a small amount of antiseptic ointment onto her fingers.

 _Closing her eyes, she traced the outline of her entry wound by rote – pushing the shooter's maniacal face out her mind as she carefully followed the line of her scar – wherein she found herself accepting the permanency of this relic of her assault more and more with each passing day._

She listened as Tom exited the bathroom where he turned the water on at the sink. The room became darker when he turned the light off and it was here that she opened her eyes, smiling at her would-be lover as he approached the bed and pulled his sweats off, raising his brow suggestively. Rachel smirked and pulled the covers back; he slipped into the bed with her.

 _Batting her lashes playfully, she handed the tube to him, turning away slightly wherein she offered him access to her exit wound. She held her breath in anticipation of his healing caress, his hot breath fanning her neck now as he pulled the strap of her black tank top aside, surprising her with a tender kiss there instead. A small gasp escaped from her lips and bounced around in the silence that consumed them. She pressed her chin to her chest and let him be for now, his fingertips dancing along the nape of her neck, his lips leaving a trail of responsive flesh in their wake._

She shuddered and all contact with him was lost for a beat before he began to apply a thin layer of ointment to her wound. _"Does that hurt?"_ he asked of her then.

Rachel leaned into his touch. "No …," she breathed her answer. He finished and handed the tube to her. She set it on the bedside table and turned around to find his eyes. "Thank you," she said softly, staring at him now.

"Welcome," he whispered, inching toward her where he came to rest on his side, cradling his head in his hand. He smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. Chasing his heat, Rachel hunkered down so that she was eye-to-eye with him. She reached for his free hand, settling back and into the pillows as much as she could tolerate without distressing her shoulder.

She stifled a yawn and Tom chuckled in response. "You're pushing it," he teased, his fingertips caressing hers.

 _She sighed and stared at him still, her nerve-endings shot, the very fiber of her being, frayed, and yet, she could_ _ **not**_ _close her eyes on him – she did_ _ **not**_ _want their time together to end – not yet, anyway._

"I know I am …," she replied, trying her best to reconcile with words just how much she truly wanted him. She shook her head and smiled.

 _Tom shifted off of his elbow then and drew her near, careful of her shoulder, she came to rest with her cheek on his chest and her thigh draped over his knees. He kissed the top of her head and breathed her in. She exhaled and let herself relax against him innately … her dream, suddenly a reality. Tom's fingertips traveled the length of her spine, up and down; his free hand gently set over her exit wound under the strap of her tank top._

 _She closed her eyes for a beat and listened for the strum of his heart … and therein everything in her life fell into place. Perhaps it was true, fate and destiny had prevailed. She opened her eyes on this thought and tilted her head up, watching him for a private moment – his soulful gateways closed, his face relaxed, his breathing slow and deliberate – where she wondered what he might be thinking._

As if on cue, he opened his eyes and found her there. She raised her right arm and with some effort, set her hand along his cheek. "A penny for them …," she whispered then, tracing her fingertip along his supple lips.

 _He smiled but didn't answer, instead he kissed her fingers and drew her near, shifting their position so his head rested next to hers on her pillow, he rolled onto his side, caressing her face and neck as he stared at her and she at him for a long while, wrapped safely inside a cocoon of their own making._

He kissed her chin and then her lips before he finally answered, "It seems I'm caught somewhere between your dreams … and our reality."

 _Rachel's heart twisted upon his sentiment, his gentle caresses warming her from the inside out as they pinned their eyes to one another before he gathered her in his arms, allowing her no time to respond before he began to kiss her again in earnest – his tempo slow yet concise, his mouth connecting with hers where he tugged gently on her upper lip before he volleyed to her lower lip – her tongue brushing against his lazily … leisurely … as if they had all the time in the world._

 _The couple soon lost themselves inside of this gentle ritual of connection and therein the clock stopped ticking on their time together – his lips on her neck and chest, traveling lower and even lower still, where he scattered the swell of her breasts with a series open-mouthed kisses, his tongue darting out for a taste as he did – her erogenous flesh reacting to her untamed desire for him, tickled to hard peaks by the soft cotton of her tank top. His strong, lean body pressed against hers where they held one another in place, her forehead set against his in a reprieve now as they breathed in tandem and watched one another carefully: eye-to-eye, they basked in their brand of innate heat._

"Will you tell me about that dream now, the one on Flora Island?" he asked of her then, a crease of uncertainty moving across his handsome face.

Rachel inched closer and kissed his lips, her thoughts racing at where to begin … how to explain. "I want to …," she replied and decided – _from the heart of it would be best_ – and as such, she dared herself to take the plunge. She caressed his face and held him close, wondering how this revelation might change the dynamic between them. Guilt pricked at her senses. She shook her head in an attempt to thwart it. "It was deep-rooted, Tom – _so real and pure of heart_ – but I find I'm still afraid of what it might reveal about me …," she breathed and tears pricked her eyes, for how would she begin to explain to him that while he was in mourning – _the very thing that might have kept her safe_ – was a beautiful dream of a life yet lived.

 _Tom exhaled and she closed her eyes, following the trail of his fingertips as he moved his hand down along her arm and then across belly where he let it stayed, nestled between their bodies._

Rachel's eyes popped open and she stared at him, his eyes as blue and calm as the deep ocean. "Don't be afraid …," he appealed to her then – _his palm warm and soothing to her empty womb_ – his eyes reassuring. "I want what you want … remember?" he reminded her then. "You just have to trust me …," he implored, his stance unwavering.

' _He really knows,' was all she could think as unruly emotion funneled to her surface now from the deep recesses of her mind, heart and soul. She shook her head and stared at this man … the only person she'd ever met that had_ _ **any**_ _intuition at all about her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to become fully ensconced under the guise of their protective cloak … this confessional of sorts. His mouth brushed against her cheeks and then lips; his hot breath tickled her skin. She took a staggering deep breath of his essence and then she heard her voice._

" _There was a whole life inside that dream, Tom …,"_ she breathed, her voice far away. _"A whole life with rich history and deep … honest feelings …,"_ she continued softly. _"A life so beautiful, I was shocked it wasn't real when I woke up … I was so scared, you_ _ **know**_ _how scared I was…,"_ she went on and Tom drew her closer, she held on tight and continued. _"We were mad for one another,"_ she exhaled heavily, her mind wild with the memory of the way his nude body moved against hers. _"We were enthralled … captivated … we made love in the shower, the water was so hot … … and the island … the island was as gorgeous as I ever remembered it be, pure and undeveloped_ …," she paused, her heart rate quickened as she dared herself to open her eyes.

Tom smiled radiantly and brushed his lips against hers, kissing her slowly, _once … twice,_ before he deemed, "It was a beautiful dream."

"Yes it was …," she breathed, her cheeks flushed, her heart on fire. "And we were **all** there … the children too and everyone was happy," she smiled reflectively. "And y **ou** … you were … **so** happy …," she exhaled, thinking about his tranquil energy there on that beach. "The stress you live with now was gone and all that was left was you …," she sighed from that far off place. Tears of happiness pricked at her eyes. "Years had passed – _it was lifetime from now, forever and day from now_ – and also there … _and for some odd reason, my focal point_ … was a baby … not quite a baby, but a toddler …," she sighed, holding her breath on the memory of her dream-baby.

An easy smile formed on Tom's face and he added pressure to his palm over her belly. "Yours and mine …," he whispered deliberately.

 _And only then did her heart bottom out – 'Yours and mine' – he'd said, just like that, tonight in her dream. Unforeseen tears popped from her eyes and traveled down her face._

"Yes …... ours," she disclosed, nodding in assent as Tom brushed her tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "And when I woke up … of course, he wasn't there," she whispered, feeling his loss all over again.

" _'He'_ … a boy …," Tom whispered, his voice stacked. " _'Where is he?'_ " he repeated her desperate mantra now, his eyes searching hers.

"Yes … that's right …," she replied – _the shrill of her mother's call still resonating_ – the insurmountable feeling of loss encapsulating her now as if by rote and reflex. More tears flooded her eyes and she was helpless against them. "He felt so real, he was gorgeous …," she whispered, her mind carried away to that special place. "And even after I realized he was a manifestation – _a whimsical dream_ – I mourned his loss," she shook her head. "Even now, I remember how blue his eyes were – _replicas of yours_ – and how he smelled of the ocean and soap … also like you," she sighed, unable to look away from the intensity of his stare.

Equally captivated, Tom held her inside the moment, a small smile gracing his face where she once again wondered what he was thinking and how he was feeling about the presumptuous nature of her dreamscapes. "What was his name?" he asked of her then, setting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes and kissed her cheek with his open mouth.

She turned her head and pulsed her lips against his and pondered his question, searching her memories for the answer, though nothing materialized. "You know, I don't know ...," she said at last. "I have no idea," she whispered, at a loss.

"I wonder why that is …," Tom sighed, pressing a chaste kiss to her shoulder cap before he wrapped his arms around her, his chin pressed against her halo now.

 _Rachel hunkered down and disappeared inside the asylum of Tom's soothing embrace, feeling marginally better that she shared her dream with him, thinking now that perhaps much of what had happened – the virus, the mission, her coma – were all catalysts for her within her own timeline of self-discovery … personal catalysts that would end up pushing her to see beyond her life as it was. Her dreams, perhaps mere wake-up calls to everything she'd been missing in life – for there was no denying that the heart wants what the heart wants – and while people try to quell their heart's desires in everyday life … they are surely powerless against those desires while residing inside their dreams._

Tiny tears pricked her eyes again and she craned her neck back to check on Tom. He held her close. "I must tell you how guilty I feel about this … _inventive_ _life_ … that seemed so real – _I know it was just a dream_ – but I wrestle with what kind of person that makes me … dreaming of a baby with you … considering everything you've been through …," she articulated carefully, collecting her emotions.

Tom exhaled and kissed her upturned mouth. He pulled back slightly and held her gaze. "It makes you like everyone else, Rachel … myself included …," he said practically then, his sentiment soothing. "People dream of the future because it gives them hope …," he said softly. "It's like Harley's human interest piece, right?" he prompted easily.

"Yes, I suppose you're correct … in everyday life," she smiled, shifting to put some weight on her elbow, she rested her cheek on his chest. "Though dreams of comatose patients are often far more intense and well-formed … and with the vividness of mine …," she sighed and her voice trailed off. "The intensity of what we felt for one another – _plus the advent of a baby_ – well, now you understand how it startled me so …," she whispered. "And therein lies the reason I hesitated to say anything at all … for fear of what you would make of me having a dream such as that …," she whispered, shifting inside his embrace.

"It makes me … happy, actually…," he exhaled then, his eyes glassy with emotion. "To know I was part of your dream … and that we were together … just how we're evolving to be now… happy and solidified, doing right by one another and the kids …," he whispered, his voice deep, just audible enough for her ears only.

"Yes, we are …," she sighed, a sense of relief consuming her.

"The dream is yours, Rachel … but the future is ours …," he declared softly, his eyes trained on hers, where she saw now that his conscience was clear … that he held no reservations.

 _###_

 _A short while later – Rachel stood at the sink and patted her face dry - her eyes tired around the edges, her messy bun a royal mess. She sighed and with a reflective smile, began to apply a small amount of her deep, nighttime cream to her face and neck. She finished and began to disentangle her hair, her right arm protesting as she did._

"Here, let me help," Tom said then as he entered the alcove. He set a glass of water down along with a tablet of Motrin. Working swiftly, he pulled her hair tie free and let her tresses fall. She smiled and leaned back and into his heat wherein a mischievous grin registered upon his face before he whispered thickly into her ear, "You put my cream on."

Rachel smirked. "I did …," she said, her cheeks heating as she awkwardly moved her wild hair over her good shoulder and picked her brush up.

"May I?" he prompted, tilting his head. Rachel smiled and handed the brush to him. "Don't forget your Motrin," he said then as he began to brush her hair, his strokes, _gentle, quick._

Rachel took the pain medication and Tom set her brush down. She smiled at him and turned inside his embrace. She leaned up and kissed him on the mouth, pulsing her lips over his. "I'm ready for bed," she sighed with a tiny smile.

 _Without a word, Tom nodded in assent and turned the light off, holding her captive with the intensity of his stare – he smiled and took her face in hands and began kissing her, seemingly without the intention of stopping. She opened her mouth to his and let him set the tempo as he kissed and kissed her, his hands everywhere all at once as he backed her up where they waltzed toward the bed, their minds, mouths and hips in tune as they swayed and she held on tight, her hands resting on his hips just over the waistband of his boxers._

Reaching their destination, he slowed his tempo, his sense of urgency dropping off as he brushed his tongue against hers, _once, twice,_ before he caught his breath and peered at her, his fingertips working at the drawstring of her yoga pants. "Never run out of that stuff," he said of the cream, his eyes hooded with desire.

Rachel giggled in response and shimmied out of her pants. "Come to bed," she said then, her sentiment, her choice of words so natural and effortless, they took her by surprise.

Tom kissed her again for good measure before she turned out of his arms and retreated back into bed. He filed in next to her and reached over to switch the bedside lamp off – _Rachel's head slightly elevated on an extra pillow_ – Tom flush against her with his arm draped across her abdomen. Hushing herself, she set her hand upon the nape of his neck and listened for the soothing sounds of his breathing … _in, out, in, out … systematic … predictable … steady,_ he breathed in perpetuity, calming her without even trying.

 _Lulled by his quietude and her dose of Motrin, Rachel focused her attention on the the skyline glittering through the large window now. The sky was still black and clear, but now she could see the stars shining from their perches in high in the sky, light years away from where she was – far and away, yet still bright with promise – and therein she thought of her beautiful, placid dreamscapes … and she smiled._

 _Tom stirred under her hand and rolled to his side. She looked down and found his sleepy eyes in the dark. He laced his fingers through hers and tugged on her hand. She shifted and with more ease, courtesy of the Motrin, she came to rest her head next to his._

"You know … you never did tell me about the dream you had tonight," he whispered then. She turned to him and her heart went nuts, a flurry of memories pummeling her without notice now – _his warm caress, his wet lips, his ready cock_ – she exhaled sharply, her cheeks heated in response. "Were we still on the island?" he wondered, she turned her head and found him again.

"Yes …," she answered softly, _candidly_ , her body awaking to the memory of their intense lovemaking.

"And we were still happy …," he sighed, not a question … but a statement, he stared at her still. "Did **I** make you happy?" he persisted, inching closer, his fingertips tracing along her hairline – _his heat consuming her_ – their naked legs laced through one another's now.

"Very …," she answered, her hand on his neck where she guided his mouth to hers and kissed him, soft and quick, slow and steady before she pulled back and dared herself to take another plunge. "We were, it seemed … ready to start trying … for the first time …," her voice trailed off and she waited for his reaction.

"You mean …," he eyed her carefully and brushed his nose against hers.

"For a baby … yes …," she answered his unasked question, kissing the underside of his neck, where she breathed him in and blinked hastily in an effort to keep her deep emotions at bay.

 _She felt him shudder inside her embrace before he carefully gathered her near, cradling her as she rested her cheek on his chest, his responsive body coveting her, his fingertips tracing the line of her spine – the tenderness of his gestures tantamount to the air she breathed – and therein, she finally began to feel at peace with herself … and the wild nature of her dreams._

" _And did we?"_ he asked eventually. _"Try …,"_ he probed curiously, the delicate timbre of his voice reverberating into the relative silence all around them.

"We did …," she sighed, her body trembling on that truth as she closed her eyes and listened to the predictable song of his heart. She exhaled. "We made love without protection … for the first time …," she whispered quickly, her core on fire of the memory of him now: _hot, sticky, hers … theirs._

" _Hmm …,"_ he hummed. _"That's some dream …,"_ he husked thickly, his voice hitched with anticipation.

"Yes, it was …," she sighed, setting her chin upon his chest. She found his eyes in darkness again. He held her close and smiled. "It was everything it was meant to be, I gather … surreal and ethereal on some larger, universal level …," she whispered, trying to articulate the indelible memory into words. Her heart raced.

 _Tom inhaled, his breathing stacked as he ran his fingertips along her exit wound – his gateways so intense and beautiful – Rachel could do no more than to let a small piece of herself reside within them … for all time._

"It's profound and life-changing … the start of a family …," he sighed wistfully from experience.

His eyes became glassy and Rachel cognitively fell for him all over again. She smiled and held herself together, reeling her emotions in akin to a fishing line. "A bit like chasing another dream …," she whispered fervently, her mind, body and spirit aligned now.

"A dream inside of a dream, I like the sound of that," he sighed, drawing her even closer.

She came to lay her head on her pillow where they rolled into one another. "As do I," she whispered; her eyes dipped shut.

Closing the miniscule distance between them, Tom kissed her then, _slowly, gently_. _"Your dreams are as gorgeous as you are, you know that …,"_ he breathed. She opened her eyes and shook her head and he smiled, his lips on hers again before she could refute him. "I say your mind is beautiful and you always protest," he husked against her mouth. "But now I have proof …," he smiled and she blushed.

"Proof …," Rachel breathed, pondering the properties of scientific proof.

"I do …," he sighed, tracing his fingertips along her hairline. He smiled. "And for the record, I don't see you differently …," he whispered, holding her gaze. "I see what I want to see now …," he persisted, his tone … _low, intimate_.

"And what's that?" she dared herself to ask, she kissed his cheek.

"I see a dream of a life – _our life together_ – because what are we waiting for?" he wondered. "Harley's right, Rachel …," he breathed. "The fabric life and how it's woven **is** different now – _it's made of the stuff of survival_ – it's **made** of hope … and of dreams … _yours and mine … ours_ …," he breathed, his eyes glassy now.

"Ours …," she whispered, her eyes trained on his, watching as they dipped shut.

 _Sighing, she felt the last of her tensions ebb, Tom's emotive outpouring – 'yours, mine, ours' – reverberating now as she moved her hand along his abdomen before resting her palm on his rib cage where she held him close, her thigh draped over his, where he instinctively folded her into his heat – her head nestled in the crook of his neck, his arms around her – a canopy of protection for her now as her eyes finally dipped shut and the velvety darkness of sleep came and closed on her world akin to a blackout curtain._

 _And as she fell deeply into asleep, she thought about this defining moment, in the here and now. For much like those moments in her dreams, where everything suddenly felt possible –she suddenly believed there was no obstacle too big for the hope of_ _ **this**_ _dream coming to fruition – and the hope and promise of a destiny or fate with Tom, unimagined … until now._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Heart's Desires – Chapter 13**

Sleep came easily for Tom, but not without interruption. He blinked – _his eyes registering on the clock, a stabilizing beacon, both amber and bright_ – it was just after three-thirty. He exhaled sharply and shifted his hold upon Rachel as his mind wandered in earnest, his heart rate slowing down now as he worked through his more disquieting thoughts.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself hear it again, that trigger sound – _the muffled, yet deliberate sound of a gunshot somewhere in the distance –_ close, but far away at the same time. The sound, deafening in the way it resonated so meaningfully, even then … even within those split-seconds that followed the discharge: _blunt, final, damning._ He knew it meant something … to him.

 _He inhaled a large helping of Rachel's essence and reminded himself now that she made it – that she was whole and healed – and therein, he willed himself see beyond her lifeless body as he charged down the hallway … beyond the blood and butchery he found when he got there … beyond her contorted face, both pale and blemished with fear and pain._

 _And so with his eyes shut tight, he impressed upon himself to see even further beyond those first few hours he spent with Rose in the darkened interior of the ICU – beyond the copious and complicated hospital forms and releases, beyond the somber looks upon Russ and Mike's faces, beyond the steady hum and beeps of her monitors, beyond Danny's face when he arrived with a change of clothing for him – and far beyond Rachel's 'do not resuscitate' order, a document he knew was tucked within her Navy dossier._

 _And it was here that his mind began to swim in a sea of agony and unease wherein he suddenly found himself drowning all over again – his prayers and pleas of that night matching his tenacious treading of the water – his desperation at staying afloat: 'Do not resuscitate. D.N.R. … Rachel … don't die on me. Not now. Not after everything. Not now. Don't make me use it. Just don't. Don't give up. Not on me. Not on life. Not now. Not after everything.'_

Stilling his rhythmic heartbeat, he drew himself away from the desperation of his terrifying mantra and took a cleansing deep breath and instead relished in the way her body felt against his: _warm, comfortable … and essential to his survival._

Sighing into their heat, his meandering mind moved back to that night and circulated around his thoughts of avoidance. Of course he was well aware that the ' _do not resuscitate'_ order was in her file … except he didn't want to admit that it existed at all. He didn't lie of course – _but Rose, she came to his rescue_ – her intuition spot on as she saw that he wasn't ready to put Rachel's wishes into play. She had said she could clearly see that he wanted to avoid that order as if _'his own life depended upon it'_. And to her credit – _she was right_ – and therein she circumnavigated the legality of it all, giving him the leeway he so desired. And quite seamlessly, she became his sounding board and the first person he confided in regarding his deep, complicated feelings for Rachel. He smiled now and thought of Rose … his savior … his confidant and once again thanked whichever God was watching over them that night.

 _Savoring their blessing, he breathed with purpose now … slow, meditative breaths along with the gentle sweep of his fingertips along Rachel's exit wound – the groove of her stitches, both familiar and haunting – her own breathing measured and steady, easy and predictable. Shifting again, he pressed his lips to her halo and began to breathe in tandem with her. And only then did he open his eyes._

He turned his attention to the watery shadows as they danced the waltz along the walls of their sanctuary, exhaling as he thought about this mission and how personal everything had become and seemingly overnight. He would be a liar if he didn't admit that a small part of his heart and mind were not aligned with this one _._ For the very idea that his kids and father were central to its success – _well, it bothered him_ – it wasn't a deal-breaker by any means, for that mentality was for a different time … a different life and a different world. But he worried nonetheless.

Worried because they would have to separate and unlike other times in his career, his sense of duty was taking a backseat to his essential need to protect what was his: _his family … and Rachel and their dream in the making_. And it was here that he paused again and pondered what that meant, for it seemed separating from his loved ones had changed and drastically so.

 _His mind moved to Darien now and what it meant to say goodbye to her and the kids for their entire life together before the virus struck. Analytically, he realized now how naive he had been – it wasn't that he wasn't a realist – except of course, he always imagined that trouble would befall him before his family. Without reasons to believe otherwise, he'd sail off and keep eyes trained on the horizon, while surely his family would remain safe and sound – tucked away in the back of his mind on an idyllic tree-lined street in Norfolk – where their life would remain intact and the school bell would ring every morning at eight-thirty and the trash would be picked up without fail on Wednesdays … and his family would be healthy and happy and remain so until his eventual return._

 _And no, it wasn't perfect, not all of the time … but it was his life … their life_ _ _… and he loved it_._

 _Chastising himself, his naiveté foremost on his mind now, he wondered how he could have been so trusting … so willing to believe in the American dream – though who could have really blamed him – for that dream was fused into the very fiber of his being, his father's exemplary military career, the mere foundation for a life lived in service … that quintessential American dream, very much Tom's childhood reality._

It was then that Rachel shifted inside of his embrace and gently pulled him from his ruminations. She sighed and her lips brushed against his neck as she slept on, naturally easing back and into their innate heat where everything was safe and impervious to outside influences … for now. He closed his eyes and his lips found her crown and he imprinted a kiss to her there, breathing her in – _her essence, familiar, raw, organic_ – made of every comfort she offered him: _flowers and green tea and contagious cures and face cream and her intellectual prowess … and peaches … simply Rachel._

" _Tom …,"_ came her melodic voice, raspy with sleep.

He opened his eyes to her call and found her in the relative darkness. He smiled and gathered her near. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said, hunkering down and into her heat, he pulled her knee up and across his thighs and held her close. "Hi …," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Hi …," she breathed, craning her neck up, she stared at him still. "It's all right, I assume we have to be up soon." Inclining her head, she focused more intensely on him, instinctively leaning into his touch as his fingertips traveled along her spine. "Are you troubled?" she asked of him then, her voice soft and soothing.

"No," he feigned thoughtfully, but he could tell his answer wouldn't suffice, for there was no protecting Rachel from the dangers that confounded them. He smiled weakly and brushed the back of his hand along her angular cheek, his eyes fixed to hers: _ocher, endless, all-seeing._

She smiled in return, her eyes vacillating over his, perceptively searching for his truths. "You're pensive …," she whispered without judgment. "Thinking about this mission, I presume," she probed skillfully, gently drawing him out. She raised her free hand and winced but that didn't stop her from setting her comforting palm upon the plane of his cheek. "I'm a bit stiff…," she exhaled through her pain.

Reacting, Tom shifted and rolled with her in his arms, gently setting her on her back wherein she exhaled and he came to lean on his elbow, his head cradled in his hand. "Need a Motrin?" he queried, his chest a bit tight with anxiety.

"No … just the truth from you …," she smiled, tugging in his elbow. Tom sighed with a small smile and came to lay his head on the pillow next to hers. She laced her fingers through his and continued searching his eyes. "You always say I can trust you …," she whispered her appeal, eye-to-eye now.

"I do … you can," he exhaled, rolling into her heat, he draped his arm across her abdomen and traced the outline of her ribs with his fingertips, up and down.

"Remember this works both ways …," she reminded him then. "And … I don't need you to protect me from how dangerous this could become …," she asserted, her voice firm, yet soothing all the same.

"I understand … and I don't mean to be overprotective …," he breathed, his eyes pinned to hers.

"I know … but I _do_ need you to know that if you have concerns … as a father … or a son … even as a lover …," her voice trailed off. She shook her head. "You must share with me what's troubling you – _because if we're truly in this together_ – that does not mean you have to shoulder all the hard parts all by yourself, not with _our_ life together …," she reasoned. "Not with me, you don't …," she asserted, impressing upon him now.

Tom felt small pricks of emotion reach his eyes wherein he was reminded of the unique foundation of their relationship – _this beautiful thing that was bestowed upon them in the wake of tragedy_ – a foundation that was indeed entrenched within them already. He smiled weakly, "Old habits die hard … I guess."

Rachel smiled in tandem, her glassy eyes a mere reflection to his. "On the ship and when you're in command – _of course, there are boundaries, this I've learned_ – but here … in this bed and any other we might share … there must be no secrets…," she said fervently.

Tom blinked and hesitated, trying now to formulate his circular thoughts into words. "I wasn't keeping the truth from you …," he began. "But I'll admit, I was trying to protect you, trying not to unburden myself …," he articulated smoothly.

With some effort, Rachel closed the small distance between them, turning to lay on her side and face Tom. She smiled and kissed his cheek, her hand nestled in the crook of his neck where she tugged him toward her. "I'm here and I'm going anywhere … sound familiar?" she husked, the timbre of her voice barely audible. Her eyes glistened against the watery shadows inside the room and Tom once again found himself mystified by her. "And I know the night before last … I was a relative mess …," she went on, blinking to assuage her tears.

"You were overwhelmed, understandably …," he encouraged, for the last thing he intended to do was to upset her again.

"Yes … but even now, what I said remains true – _I won't survive losing you, this much I know_ – but now I can say that again with greater ease … because I unburdened myself to you, albeit in a frenzy …," she smirked and Tom smiled. "And as scared as I was to admit how I felt … I did …," she persisted. "And I expect you to be able to do the same when it comes to matters of the heart … for if not with me, Tom … then who? Russ or Mike?" she questioned, her eyes searching his for answers.

Tom's heart raced as he stared at her, "No one but you."

"Then talk to me … please …," she beseeched him, lacing her legs through his where she held him where she wanted him.

 _Tom fixed his eyes on hers, somewhat speechless as he briefly wondered what would have happened if he'd really shared with Darien some of the fears he had or suppressed or found himself confronted with during his career – and therein, he suddenly realized he had done a masterful job with compartmentalizing his life with his dear sweet wife – and though he didn't regret protecting her and never would … he was certain now that those inherent boundaries he had erected so long ago had indeed been dismantled as his relationship with Rachel became solidified._

He shook his head and again searched for the right words. He exhaled, his fingertips dancing along her hairline. "I was thinking about what it will feel like to say goodbye to you and the kids when we get to Subic Bay," he admitted evenly.

Rachel leaned into his touch and encouraged, "Go on."

Tom smiled weakly. "And … also … about my own unquestioning compliance when it came to going on tour before all of this happened …," he added, his mind racing again with the simplicity of it all.

"It's your job … your career … it's what defines you some of the time … and I know how that feels …," Rachel sighed pragmatically, searching his eyes for more than what was on the surface.

"I know you do," he smiled at her and shook his head. "And it _has_ defined me, that much is true … but more than that _– I was thinking about the way I would envision Darien and the kids without me when I'd leave_ – I would see them safe and secure … and unharmed … a stock photo in my mind's eye that remained … somewhat perfect," he sighed heavily in defeat of his own virtue.

"And they were …," Rachel smiled weakly.

"Yes … until they weren't …," he exhaled, grappling with his more deeply rooted feelings of guilt.

"Not your fault…," she countered poignantly, brushing her nose against his, her sweet nighttime breath fanning his face until she pressed her perfect-fit lips against his, pulsing gently. "Perspectives change …," she sighed into their heat. "All the time," she rationalized.

He kissed her with intensity now, his lifeline tethered again, _kiss, kiss,_ she soothed him without even trying. "I know …," he breathed against her mouth. "But now, with everything we do know …," he sighed, pulling back slightly, he smoothed her hair away from her angular face and caught his breath. He shook his head and exhaled sharply. "Just knowing that you and the kids are central to this mission's success …," he swallowed hard. "And realizing in truth, that at the core of everything … how essential you _really_ are to me – _and how you're not going to be in some far off safe place, on some street in 'Anywhere U.S.A'_ – but likely in harm's way … in harm's way and completely essential to my survival … to _our_ survival … I just … it's a lot to process …," he exhaled sharply, his eyes fixed to hers as he attempted to maintain his composure.

"Tom …," she appealed to him without words, she ran her hand up and down his forearm and pulled him closer.

"I'll put it how you put it …," he husked, his heart racing now. "I cannot lose you and the kids … _I_ won't survive it …," he confessed, his pulse quickening. "I know this – _I've known it all along_ – for my whole career before this mission …," he added quickly, unburdening himself now. "And yet … I never allowed myself to really admit it … not to Darien …," he shook his head. "I never really acknowledged how dangerous the world at large really was … or is …," he breathed, his heart fissured via unearthed emotion now.

Rachel held onto him with tenacity. "But our foundation is different … yours and mine …," she mused thoughtfully. "It's built upon something else entirely – _not out of necessity, we know that now_ – but certainly borne out of survival and how the world is today …," she sighed.

"Yes … it is …," Tom agreed, brushing his lips against hers before he pulled back and found her eyes, trying again to explain himself, "It's the stakes … they're just so high." He sighed pressed on. "And tossing you and the kids and my father into the equation – _it's an element that tips everything on its side_ – and drastically changes the dynamic of my long-practiced methods of coping and compartmentalizing."

Rachel nodded in assent. "And so …," she probed gently.

"And so … I don't know …," he huffed in defeat and rolled to his back where he trained his eyes on the ceiling. "My instinct is still to protect my family … and you …," he exhaled in truth. "And I know, short of staying with you at Subic Bay …," he began, pausing now where he was lulled temporarily by the whimsical movement of the shadows again. "Which won't work, because that's not the plan …," he rationalized aloud. "Honestly …," he sighed and turned his head to find her again. "I feel a little bit like my hands are tied and I don't like it …," he breathed. "I don't like to be backed into a corner and you know that …," he enunciated, his heart racing now. "It's the whole fate and destiny thing again – _it's like you said the other night_ – do we trust it? Can we just trust it and hope it all works out in the end?" he peppered her with his questions, voicing his deepest fears.

Rachel kissed his cheek and Tom studied her face for a lost beat in time. She smiled weakly and therein he knew how she would answer. "I think you know I'm about to say – _yes, we trust it … for what choice do we have for the greater good_ – but I'll add to that though …," she said softly. "For neither of us can deny that so far, the whole fate and destiny thing has been kinder to us in some regards – _less kind, of course, in a great many ways_ – but for us and this thing between us as it stands right now … right here … for us and the livelihood of a dream yet lived … it's not so terrible …," she appealed to him, her candor lodged at the core of her being.

And then just like that, he felt aligned and much better about where they stood – he just needed a reminder from time to time – that everything they'd been through, both together and apart from one another, was not in vain. And that the world was changing … and that was all right too. "We're all right, right now – _one day at a time, I know_ – we've overcome so much," he agreed.

"We have … and that has to be enough, for now…," she said, her reflective eyes searching his. "And we know this mission, so far – _is working as planned with propaganda in full swing in the Philippines, ahead of our arrival_ – and while the children and I will not be completely secluded …," she breathed, her voice hitched. "We will be as safe as we can be _– and after this, after we fix what's happening on Flora Island_ – we're truly done with the hardest part … and our biggest obstacle in beating this virus will have been tackled, for good …," she appealed to his senses, rationally and passionately falling into her Dr. Rachel Scott persona.

 _And so as Tom looked on at her and smiled, he quietly fell for her all over again and his fears and misgivings were indeed mitigated and all that resonated were the words of the strong-willed, tenacious doctor he'd come to trust with his life and livelihood like no other before her. Drawing her closer now, he let go of his trepidations and soundly kissed his woman instead, determined to enjoy their last few moments of time spent truly alone._

 _###_

 _A short while later, Tom stared at his reflection in the mirror in the alcove of the bathroom inside his room. Everything was so quiet he realized then … even his heartbeat. After having slipped into his suite, he had packed the balance of his things, showered, shaved and donned a working uniform – performing the everyday mundane by rote as his mind still wandered, his discussion with Rachel still resonating – along with the feeling of her lips on his skin and the intensity of her stare as if all she saw … was him. And it was there inside those last few minutes alone with her, that he knew he wouldn't want it any other way._

 _He inhaled sharply on this truth, the humid air filled his lungs and then he smiled, for his father was awake now too, the added essence of fresh brewed coffee told him as much. Turning away from the mirror, he sighed into the silence once more and made to exit his room – his bed untouched, his personal space idle, unused – especially since Rachel's emergence from her coma. And with that thought, he smiled broadly, picked up his go-bag and tablet device and turned on his heels … for it had truly been a wondrous ten or so days._

"Good morning, Dad," he greeted the elder Chandler as he stepped into the main room.

"Perfect timing, Tommy," Jed replied with a warm, tired smile as he turned around from his perch next to the coffee pot, still dressed in his pajamas. "Do you have time for a cup?" he wondered easily, a disarming twinkle set deep within his eyes.

"I do, a quick one," Tom replied, privately checking on his father.

Jed busiest himself with the coffee while Tom moved swiftly to the door and set his go-bag down. He glanced at the clock, it was just before five. He slid his finger across the tablet and the device came to life. He approached his father and entered his passcodes. "I wanted to show you something before we take off this morning," he said as he accessed his email.

"All right," Jed answered and handed Tom a cup of coffee.

"Thank you," he smiled. He took a sip of the scalding elixir, waking up as the smooth liquid funneled down his throat. "How are you? The kids? Do you really think Sam's up for a trip like this?" he asked in rapid-fire style as he set the tablet down on the counter and watched for a moment while his messages loaded.

Jed took a sip of his coffee. "They had nice evening, went to sleep without incident – _and Sammy's just fine … sure he's young and still a tad apprehensive about this flight_ – but remember when it comes down to it, he has what he needs, Tommy …," he assured. "A great many people have lost a lot more than he has, they've seen worse … all we can do is what we're doing …," he counseled evenly and without hesitation.

Tom pressed his lips together in a veiled attempt conceal his unease. "I keep wondering what Darien would say about having the kids go on this mission with us …," he said quickly, his eyes on the tablet, Harley's messages loaded now: _new and bold and unread._

Jed set his cup down and came to stand next to Tom, "One thing I know, Son … is that Darien trusted you, _implicitly_ – _and deep down, you know she did_ – now you just have to learn to trust yourself when it comes to the kids."

Tom sighed and toggled the first email. "It will take some getting used to …," he said reflectively, his eyes pricked with unforeseen tears. He blinked and set his cup down. "I've been thinking a lot about the nuances of life and how things were before, for the kids … for me … and how we'll need to live now –"

"Everything is different," Jed interjected then, setting his hand upon Tom's forearm. "The most we can do is work with the hand we're dealt … that much we've talked about …," he rationalized. "And I know talking about it doesn't make it any easier," he empathized.

"No … it doesn't …," Tom agreed. "So much has changed – _I hate feeling this circular_ – like I'm not making headway … with anything," he confessed now. His heart skipped a beat.

"Listen, Son … I've said this before too, don't be so hard on yourself – _and remember, for whatever reason this is your path_ – and from where I stand, I think you're doing a heck of a job staying on course," he praised, his weathered eyes glistening against the soft light. Tom exhaled and nodded in assent. "Now what did you want to show me?" he asked, skillfully changing the subject.

Tom smirked, "So … it's a work in progress then?"

"Yes, that's the thing about life, its always been that way … we just have to adapt," Jed replied without hesitation.

Tom nodded in assent, for of course, his father was right … life and time just moved on while circumstances were manifested and change just … happened. He exhaled with a resigned sigh and pushed the tablet toward his father. "Here are some photos that will accompany a human interest article on the mission … and the Nathan James … and the race to find and develop the cure," he reported, looking on at the photos with his father.

"So … the press corps is interested in the personal lives of those responsible for saving the world … not a bad angle," he surmised wistfully. "Some fantastic photos too," he deemed.

"Seems to be a consensus amongst the reporters we met yesterday," Tom explained. "This reporter, Phillip Harley is one Michener's guys – _these are his photos_ – and when he addressed the team yesterday … he wanted to know where things stood between us … Rachel and I, apparently there is a decent amount scuttlebutt on the subject …," he exhaled.

"I see," Jed looked up and held Tom's gaze. Tom opened the last email and clicked on the photo of he and Rachel. He handed the tablet back to his father. "That's a handsome photo of the two of you," his father commented. He tilted his head and admired it from afar. "You look happy, Son … like the weight of the world was just lifted from your shoulders … and Rachel … look at her …," he declared, a tiny bit of pride etched along his face.

"Yes, she's something else …," Tom whispered, privately doting on Rachel … her unfettered happiness as apparent now as it was when he first saw the photo last night. "Harley will likely publish his article some time this week …," he went on. "And perhaps in the interest of encouraging hope and being honest with ourselves … Rachel and I confirmed that we're … together …," he breathed; his heart raced. "We'll talk with the kids of course before I take leave from Subic Bay… but I wanted you to know," he exhaled, searching his father's eyes for something … approval perhaps.

Jed smiled. "I'm sure it will be a fine article, Tommy – _and you know how I feel about Rachel_ – you know I'm on your side," he said fervently.

"I do …," Tom answered. "Thanks Dad … for everything," he smiled.

"Sure thing …," Jed answered with a tight smile. "So our plan is still in play then?" he redirected easily. "We'll see you, Rachel, Burk and Green at the air force base at seven?" he prompted, always an army strategist.

"That's the plan," Tom nodded in assent, promptly screwing his head on straight.

 _###_

The sun was almost up by the time they arrived at the dock. Tom exited the jeep and walked around to Rachel's side where he opened the door for her, she smiled up at him and exited. He took her bag from her and draped it over his shoulder. The morning air was fresh and crisp and it felt good as he inhaled sharply and cleansed his lungs. The foursome met at the trunk where they gathered the balance of their and without a moment to spare, headed around a small bend to make their way to the James.

 _And it was here that almost in unison, his and Rachel's footsteps slowed down to a more measurable stride as Tom found himself quite awestruck. For he couldn't help but to notice the gorgeous façade of the Nathan James with her battleship gray exterior, her bridge and tower, both tall and proud as the sun rose purposefully behind her. The sky was a magnificent mash of orange and pink and purple that delivered the promise of a new day. And there inside that private moment – all Tom could suddenly sense was the vestiges of their rich history together – his thoughts suddenly aligned while his heartstrings tugged upon the core of his being in the name of battles both won and lost upon her vast and glorious decks._

 _He blinked and glanced at Rachel then, her eyes glistening against the sun's early rays, her striking face illuminated by the color of the sky and he could see that she was feeling it too … this undeniable connection … and therein, she took his breath away. He exhaled and privately watched her for a beat longer before Green and Burk stopped and turned around._

"She's stunning isn't she, Sir?" Green commented, a smile cascaded along his face.

"That she is …," Tom nodded in assent.

"There's nothing like her, Sir … maybe she'll always be _'home'_ now," Burk nodded.

"I think you're on to something," was all Tom could say.

The foursome walked in tandem now and approached a security detail where the ensign on duty saluted Tom and nodded in assent for them to pass through to the dock. With his eyes set on the horizon, Tom walked on and forward now with Rachel at his side, flanked by Green and Burk. The men reached the gangway and headed up without looking back, but Rachel stopped and Tom turned to her.

"How significantly different I feel now … about this ship …," she ruminated; a gentle nautical breeze whipped up and around them. "Almost like I'm coming home after a long journey, there's truth in what Lieutenant Burk just said …," she sighed, shaking her head. She exhaled and hot tufts of her breath spiraled from her lips. Tom smiled and watched her eyes gloss over with emotion, transforming now into deep reflective pools of history and wisdom. "Do you remember the day we met in the hangar …," she breathed quickly, her voice cracked into the silence and she looked away.

"I do …," Tom replied, but held his tongue, for he knew what it was like to come upon a ship where he'd lived and worked before and the James was certainly no different.

" _I could have told you right then, the moment we met … I could have told you everything …,"_ she whispered urgently, her eyes vacillating as she looked up at the James. She turned back to Tom and he watched the last of her resolve collapse. "Do you really forgive me?" she wondered hastily, stepping into his personal space, her face marred with insecurity as she stared up at him.

Tom exhaled and brushed the back of his free hand against hers. "There's nothing to forgive," he offered candidly, twirling his fingertips through hers. "And I mean that …," he said with more determination. "And if I didn't, I wouldn't say it …," he husked, his eyes pinned to hers now. "We both did what we had to do with the cards we were dealt …," he appealed to her senses, his father's advice foremost on his mind now.

Rachel looked down at their hands and then raised her head. She smiled radiantly at him and shook her head. She exhaled, collecting herself before whispered, "We did … you really are something else, you know that?"

And then he smiled and said, "So are you."

 _###_

Tom reported to CIC to touch base with Mason and Gator. Presently they stood at the Da Vinci screen and reviewed some overnight surveillance provided to them by their counterparts in the Philippines. Burk and Green entered then and joined the small group.

"As you can see, Sir … not much has changed overnight, this imagery is the most current we have," Mason said then. He pointed to the most remote and impassable shoreline of what was deemed to be Flora Island. "You'll focus on securing entry to the island from here, as planned, coordinates have not changed, obviously," he reiterated confidently.

"And low tide is still targeted for first light?" Tom queried, his eyes scanning the nighttime images of the island: _the water calm and serene, the moon high in the sky._

"Yes, Sir … tide tables haven't had any major adjustments and it looks like low tide, the day after tomorrow will be optimal at about an hour before sunrise," Gator reported in. "As planned – _you'll take a RHIB out to this cave here, which appears to be a craggy overlook, but opens up when the tide goes out_ – once there, you'll leave the RHIB and swim ashore along the interior the cave," he directed. "From what the local people tell us, there's an entry point on the other side of the long cave, which will put you at the mouth of a large waterfall," he rehashed.

"Time of day and tides along with location still make this the optimal place to access the island, Sir," Burk added then. "With any luck, we won't find any inhabitants there and will able to infiltrate and take control of the situation from the interior of the island instead of meeting resistance along the shores of the main beach," he reported.

Tom nodded in assent and then prompted, "And what is the status on thermal-imaging?"

"No change, Sir," Gator confirmed, bringing up a satellite image of the island with a heat map placed on top of it. He immediately pointed to some small flecks of red and orange and deemed, "Too small to be humans or even land animals."

"Very good," Tom nodded. "And what do know about our propaganda campaign, have we made any more headway overnight?" he prompted.

Mason nodded in assent, "The feedback Val and Granderson have received has been positive – _we've been vague of course, with respect to our schedule and Dr. Scott's location while waiting for rendezvous_ – but the Philippines public is genuinely elated to know help is on the way," he reported. "This mission is definitely looked upon as a partnership at this point and we're pretty confident that the local people they have begun to understand that these islands must be secured and safe-guarded from an outbreak," he added.

"And the insurgents? Any changes there?" he probed evenly.

"No, Sir … still holding their own, it's still unclear how many of them are Immunes or happened to flee there under the assumption of safety," Gator reported. "We did manage, late last night, to receive a small portion of a message over the wire from the hotel manager there, who indicated that she was still at a maximum capacity … with some hostile influences afoot, mainly set up in camps along the primary shoreline," he stated.

Tom sighed. "Well, good work everyone," he approved. "Now we've just got to get there and talk some sense into these people … and ideally, with little or no force on our part, I want this as peaceful as possible," he declared.

 _###_

 _A short while later, following a quick debrief with Michener, Tom lingered inside the doorway of the lab, hesitating as he spotted Rachel in the far corner – his mind deluge with memories of what took place within the sanctum of this space – the hours upon hours of time Rachel spent here … beleaguered by her grave failures and bolstered by her eventual success. He shook his head and found that he was smiling – despite everything, after all the wreckage and suffering and uncertainty – he was still smiling … and that had to mean something._

 _He inhaled sharply, the remnants of sea and salt filled his lungs as he watched her work from his perch much like he did every time he came to visit her here. Hesitating once again before he would step tentatively over the threshold and leave a small piece of himself here … in her domain where everything was foreign to him and belonged to her. He shifted on his feet and she turned around to find him._

"Captain," she greeted and a playful smile reached her eyes; her cheeks were pink.

"Dr. Scott," he declared with his own smile.

"I'm putting the last of what I need in this case here … and that will be it," she said from her same spot.

"Perfect timing," he nodded in assent, making note of how she favored her shoulder.

 _She turned back and pulled some files from several of the boxes she had packed at the hospital and designated for the James – tiny white stickers adorning their sides – and therein he thought of Darien and her lonely task. He smiled through his unease, trying now to assess Rachel's mental state as he approached her._

" _I love this lab …,"_ she declared into the quiet then. Her voice, stoic and reflective, echoed slightly. _"I love everything about it …,"_ she whispered and Tom came to stand beside her at a long metal worktable. She looked up to him. "I didn't think I would … after everything, the stress, the trials … but I do all the same …," she sighed. "I almost can't let go of it … I can't believe that one day this space will just be a hangar on a Navy destroyer again …," she smiled wistfully.

"One day, perhaps …," Tom said softly. "But for now and for the foreseeable future … the Nathan James will be here and so will your lab …," he replied evenly and pressed his lips into a thin contemplative line as he looked around the space.

 _He sighed and turned his attention back to Rachel, knowing he wanted nothing more than to break rank and gather her in his arms and kiss and kiss her here, on sacred ground … where it would mean something else entirely – and he knew he could have – except for some reason, he hedged. For the 'Tom and Rachel' they had established within confines of this space seemed to be just as preserved as all that had transpired here. He smiled and so did she – and they silently maintained their distance – ever mindful and respectful of everything they were to each other during that time of their lives._

Tom cleared his throat and pressed on, turning back to her. "I have a new development …," he announced smoothly then.

"Trouble already?" Rachel queried, her brow raised with concern. She zipped her final case up.

"No … at least, I hope not," he muttered. She eyed him carefully. "Michener wants Phillip Harley to accompany you – _to do a chronicle of sorts on your part of this mission_ – apparently as part of a larger documentary outlining the history of the search for the cure and the Nathan James' voyage around the globe …," he informed her, keenly alert to her gut reaction.

"I see …," she replied evenly and then tilted her head. "And this bothers you?" she probed slowly.

Tom smiled. "No … not the documentation aspect of it … because that has to be done," he sighed. "I just know, much like I am, how private of a person you are …," he articulated carefully.

"I am …," she agreed, a small smile gracing her lips.

"And taking that into consideration, I already had a word with Harley myself," he reported quickly.

"Really?" she scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes. "How surprising," she smirked.

Tom chuckled under his breath, thankful she didn't go ape-shit on him for trying to control the situation when it came to her personal life. "Look … I know you can take care of yourself … God, I sound like a broken record …," his voice trailed off.

 _He exhaled sharply and searched for the right words, his keen eyes scanning the lab, his thoughts migrating to the darker times spent within: dying monkeys, the trials, Michener's attempt on his own life … and Neils. Rachel stepped closer, tempting fate now with her proximity. She set her hand carefully over his and added pressure, effectively drawing him out._

"Yes, you do … a bit …," she smiled. "Except I know where it comes from now, so … I'm beginning to feel all right about that …," she whispered her sentiment.

Tom turned his hand over and boldly laced his fingers through hers, palm to palm now. "I keep thinking about how awful it was for you when I boxed you into that corner with Neils …," he began, shaking his head. "And I don't want to put you in that kind position again, not if I can help it … and truthfully, we know very little about this guy …," he sighed, his mind wild with the implications of leaving Harley with his family.

He sighed heavily and Rachel trained her eyes on his wherein he could find no signs of duress. She smiled weakly. "So … what did you say to him?" she wondered.

"That your personal life is off limits … unless you want to share something with him," he began, his eyes still trained on hers. He watched her cheeks blush. "And that he should try to remain objective in his reporting – _because while the search for the cure may sound like a chronicle of pure science_ – it became far more than that …," he nodded. "Especially to you and to me and to the entire crew of this vessel …," he breathed, his voice deep and reflective.

"Perhaps no truer words have been spoken …," Rachel replied with a small smile meant just for him. "May I admire you … here … inside our last few minutes alone?" she breathed, searching his eyes with hers: _vibrant, alert, all-seeing_. Tom squeezed her hand, but held his tongue again. He smiled and nodded in assent. "You _are_ right … I _can_ take care of myself," she began. "But standing here, inside this lab again with you – _I realize how far we've come_ – and not just by saving the world together … but by the unearthing a lifetime of protected emotions and deep insecurities … yours and mine …," she exhaled on her truths.

"Ours …," was all he found he could say.

 _And so as he stood there with Rachel's hand nestled in his for a beat longer – he exhaled and relished in the quiet solitude this space had to offer now – feeling gratified that the hangar had indeed become a place of peace for Rachel … a home … and a sanctuary … rather than a place that simply defined her tireless struggle to find and develop the cure._

 _He blinked then and broke their connection, squeezing her hand one last time before she began to inform him of the cases she needed and he pressed his comm. device and called for Green and Burk to come and assist them. Where they would disembark the Nathan James – and fly high in the sky, over land and sea – with open hearts and open minds to a far off, not so safe, yet not so hostile place of beauty – that resided for now, deep within their minds' eyes._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 14**

 _Presently Tom stood with Mike just outside a hangar at Scott Air Force Base. The Gulfstream Jet, situated on the tarmac in front of them, was at the tail end of a battery of pre-flight procedural tests. The base was well organized and clean and reminded Tom of many of the military installations he'd visited over the course of career: classic brick and mortar with handsome facades, both meaningful and patriotic with an air of important history. Miraculously, Scott had held its own during the worst of the viral outbreak, leaving behind a higher percentage of its populace comparative to the global percentage of survivors … which presently amounted to a core group of tenacious personnel along with some civilians._

 _The weather was clear and bright, the early morning sun slowly rising to its perch high in the sky – the air, crisp with moderate humidity – all of which yielded perfect flying conditions._

" _How do you really feel about this Harley character coming with us?"_ came Mike's baritone.

Tom trained his keen eyes on the ground crew while they worked. "I'm all right with it …," he answered, standing at ease, he turned his attention to Mike. "But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't an additional aspect of this mission to be concerned about," he added candidly. "It's not that I don't think he's trustworthy, but I'm concerned that our mission, in its entirety, will be scrutinized somewhat and I'm not looking forward to that, should it come down to the court of public opinion," he stated evenly.

"Neither am I," Mike agreed and then he sighed, "I suppose anyone who wasn't with us on the James will never really have an appreciation for how it all went down, that was one hell of a mission."

"The mission of a lifetime … and then some," Tom concurred. He sighed with resignation. "And it's far from over," he added. "After securing the Philippines … we'll need to regroup and figure out how our long-term strategy of rebuilding Naval Operations might coincide with the stabilizing viral outbreaks … in tandem with Michener's growth plans, of course …," he exhaled, watching the the head engineer now as she engaged with Colonel Dan Holbrooke – _their chief pilot and Tom's Air Force counterpart_ – both in rank and years of service.

"It's never gonna end, is it?" Mike pondered then. He pressed his lips together into a grim line and exhaled.

"No … not in the foreseeable future," Tom answered. "But we're here," he nodded with a tight smile. "We made it …," he declared. "And so did a heck of a lot of other people because our work … and that's the takeaway," he surmised, fixing his eyes on not only his XO, but his valued friend. "That's the silver lining we have to remember when we come under fire for the decisions we made," he sighed with the knowledge that delving into the chronology of the race and chase for the cure would undoubtedly bring forth some uncomfortable realizations.

Mike nodded in assent to Colonel Holbrooke as the pilot trained his eyes on them and nodded. "Looks like we could get the green light anytime now … I'll alert the crew," he reported in.

"No time like the present," Tom nodded in assent.

 _###_

Having spoken briefly with Holbrooke, Tom entered the hangar again, his eyes adjusting to the darker interior as he swiftly made his way to the waiting area in a suite of operations offices located in the far right corner of the massive space. He slipped inside the office from the back door, the room was warm and lively with conversation and smelled of baked goods and coffee. His presence went unnoticed and therein he took the opportunity to quietly survey the team, his family included. Observing the kids now, he looked on as they enjoyed some breakfast and sat alongside Burk, Taylor and Miller where it seemed they were devising a complicated schedule for an _'UNO Tournament'_ of sorts.

 _He nodded at Wolf Taylor and looked beyond the kids to Rachel, where he realized she'd been watching him from her perch inside a conversation between Granderson and Phillip Harley. He slowly nodded and tenaciously held her gaze – patiently waiting for her cheeks to turn pink – and then, just like that … as if under his command, they did. She was a picture of health, her physique, both flushed and relaxed and that alone made him a happy man. She shook her head ever so slightly at his antics and seamlessly turned her attention back to the duo with whom she stood._

 _Tom smiled to himself until for no reason other than association, 'Baltimore' popped into his head. He trained his eyes on Alisha Granderson then and studied the young woman for a moment, her eyes brighter than he'd seen a long while. Remnants of 'Baltimore' still permeated though – the inkling, nothing in particular at first – just the name of the city, 'Baltimore' … but before long he was struck by a barrage of stock memories that hit him akin to a ton of bricks: Amy Granderson dropping to her death at his feet, Lieutenant Foster and the baby and her defensive wounds, Rachel Scott held hostage … his kids and his father … and Darien._

' _Baltimore' … under siege, his chest tightened, his pulse spiked._

 _He looked away from Rachel with haste in search of amnesty and noticed his father sitting with Mike and Russ, their heads bent over some aerial maps and photos of the islands they all knew so well … in theory. Distracted, Tom glanced at his watch and then looked up to find Danny disappearing behind a large indoor tree situated in the corner – his arm slung protectively along Kara's lower back – the planter obscuring his view until he caught a glimpse of her pregnant form again when she turned around to face Danny._

 _And it was here that Tom somehow found himself unintentionally lost inside the young lovers' emotive goodbye. For try as he might to look away, he simply couldn't – for in some substantial way, he realized how invested he was in them – far surpassing his custody as a ship's Captain, but more familial, not quite a father … but close enough._

 _He blinked and looked away from their intensity only to find Rachel's eyes again where he found comfort inside the more somber moment. She tilted her head and regarded him. Her keen, all-seeing eyes surely assessing him now as he nodded to her – saying without words, 'I'm all right' – to which she replied to him with a curt nod of her own before politely excusing herself from her conversation and approached him. Harley followed her movement briefly before he turned back to Granderson._

Rachel stood at his side now where her gaze followed his and she came to understand the sudden change in his façade. They remained comfortable in an easy silence then for several long beats, eyes transfixed on Danny and Kara until he heard her voice, both low and intimate.

" _Memories resurfacing?"_ she asked of him.

Tom sighed and replied candidly, "You could say that." He turned to her and pressed his lips together, releasing a measure of tension. "Even days apart could feel like a lifetime now …," he observed, turning his attention back to the young couple where he could readily see how every moment mattered to them. "Everything is so … monumental …," he articulated evenly. "Especially moments like that – _stolen away, all alone_ – made even more intense without the customary fanfare at the docks or a Change of Command Ceremony to distract them …," he sighed wistfully, his mind set briefly on Darien before he let her go.

"I remember …," Rachel said softly. "The day we left Norfolk – _there were so many ceremonial proceedings_ – and equally as many bright white uniforms … they were everywhere all at once …," she smiled, turning to him again with her face flushed and gorgeous eyes, dancing. "White uniforms … why is that?" she wondered, switching gears; she moved a half of a step closer to him.

Tom smiled and surreptitiously brushed his knuckles across hers, surrendering now to his innate need for physical contact with her … _he tempted fate instead_. "Hmm … Summer White Service uniforms …," he sighed wistfully. "A short sleeve uniform for officers, usually worn with a combination cap …," he went on with small smile, his mind on the day they left for the Arctic. "Traditionally used by officers following the Change of Command Ceremony and made of Certified Navy Twill … a robust polyester weave," he chortled, his eyes once again on Danny and Kara, watching now as the young sailor reached for his woman and drew her near. Tom turned back to Rachel. "White uniforms are typically worn when a vessel leaves port in the summertime … this classic style boasts a moniker, _'The Milkman'_ …," he smiled at the memorable formality of it all.

Rachel smiled up at him. "You're so eloquent when you speak about your realm …," she sighed, her glassy eyes pinned to his. She blinked and broke their connection.

"So are you …," he admired.

 _The couple eased back and into their thoughtful silence then as they fixed their eyes again on Danny and Kara – now ensconced inside an ardent embrace – a moment made of high emotions in apparent seclusion … all restraint having dissipated now as they lost themselves inside of one another. Tom's heart twisted for them and a dull ache tugged at his muscle – his mind deluge with the many occasions he'd bid Darien farewell – their last few moments alone … truly alone, typically spent wrapped around one another in their marriage bed the evening prior. His pulse raced … she was gone but not forgotten. He blinked hastily in an effort to stave off his resurfacing emotions._

He sighed and heard himself say, _"Look at them, Rachel."_

" _Clinging to hope …,"_ she replied and then looked up to find him. He saw that she had capped her right elbow in her left hand, a tell tale sign of her fatigue. She inclined her head and pressed on. "Do you think she will be all right?" she persisted tentatively.

"I do … she's a strong woman … with a stronger than ever support system," he said encouragingly.

"She is … very strong, admirably so," Rachel agreed, shifting on her feet.

Tom smiled at her, "So are you."

Rachel smiled in tandem and held his gaze. "I can be …," she sighed.

"We have about a half hour, would you like to get some tea and sit down?" he asked of her then. "I could use some coffee," he smiled.

"I'd like that," she smiled and they turned and walked together to the small continental breakfast bar. "And Danny? How do you think he'll do?" she asked of him as she reached for a tea bag.

Tom smirked, watching her now as she studied the tag on the teabag before she dropped it into the paper cup. "He'll be all right too, we'll make sure of that …," he nodded in assent. The pair busied themselves preparing their beverages for quiet moment before turning around."Let's sit," he suggested then, pointing to an open waiting area style sofa in the corner.

Once seated, Tom took a sip of his coffee surveyed the space again – _the team looked good_ – healthy, rested and ready with fresh faces much like the hundreds he'd seen at every port before leaving on tour. He took another sip of his coffee and watched Rachel as she sampled her tea wherein he anticipated her reaction … smiling now as she appeared to be less than enthused.

"Good stuff?" he chortled playfully.

"Terrible," she deadpanned, batting her lashes at him. "One day … I'll have fine tea again," she sighed dramatically.

Tom chuckled and pressed his lips into a thin line. He shook his head at her antics and watched as she reclined against the back of the sofa, adjusting the placement of her right arm in an effort to ease her pain. She took a meaningful breath, _in and out_ and he let her be.

He observed the room again now and realized that his vantage point had changed such that he could now see Kara's face in plain view. Her brow was knitted with worry and her cheeks, pink with emotion, though her face was fuller and her aura suddenly appeared to more ethereal … her pregnancy no doubt, the impetus. And as such, her natural beauty was somehow made apparent to Tom … and then just like that – _she had become more than his dedicated TAO_ – for he saw the woman she was … and the mother she would become.

 _His heart shimmied and his eyes darted around the room where he found his kids again and scrutinized them … searching for signs of unease or frailty, though he found no cause for alarm. Sam had moved and was situated between Mike and his father and Ashley was happily perched on armchair nearby, her eyes on her book. They were all right; he was assured now as he lost himself inside their innocence – their tender hearts frayed on the inside – but coated with a sheen of bravery on the exterior. He took a cleansing breath and turned back to Rachel wherein he followed her gaze and was back where he started: Danny and Kara._

" _Where … do you think …,"_ she sighed and shifted in her seat again. She shook her head and turned to Tom, surprised to find him watching her. She blushed. "Never mind," she muttered.

Tom gave her a disarming smile and leaned closer, "What?"

"No, forget it," she smirked coyly.

"Come on … tell me …," he chortled conspiratorially, his eyes dancing with hers now.

He smiled broadly wherein she seemed to acquiesce, her eyes darting to the corner again, lingering on the young couple before she spoke. "Well… if … _sex_ …," she whispered, her voice low … _intimate, playful_. "Is so … taboo and forbidden …," she sighed; her face flushed, rosy and pink.

Tom smirked, "Go on."

"When do you think they conceived their baby …," she asked of him then. "In the Arctic somewhere right before –"

"The Russians," Tom finished for her, his mind searching the timeline for insight now.

"Yes …," Rachel answered.

Tom exhaled and shook his head. "No … no …," he paused and watched the couple again, noticing that they both seemed more at ease. He turned back to Rachel. "No … with zero tolerance on fraternization … frivolous sex …," he paused. "It just doesn't exist, it's not worth the risk …," he rationalized aloud. "Really … a time of high emotional turmoil or stress would be the most likely culprit for the cessation of boundaries …," he continued. "My guess is that they became a couple … and were abstaining … _waiting_ … to get home …," he breathed, searching for the right words.

"A couple … in hiding," Rachel mused.

Tom nodded. "I believe so, because of how distressed she was by the time she ousted herself …," he sighed. "The pressure had mounted, before that, a fact I had put together later," he explained. "But that day ... in the lounge, there was no question of their commitment …," he navigated carefully.

"All in the name of the virus ... or Dengue fever …," Rachel sighed downheartedly.

"Or love ...," Tom countered evenly, his eyes fused to hers now, somewhere on the edge of condoning the young lovers' behavior.

"Yes … there's that too … _love_ …," Rachel answered and held his gaze until she blinked and looked away from him. _"So there was a driving force that propelled their need for … physical contact … and intimacy …,"_ she reasoned aloud and then suddenly turned back to him, her eyes bright and animated. "Like our embrace!"

"After the trials … _yes_ …," Tom reminisced, positively stunned by her beauty.

 _Stilling his heart now, he inhaled sharply as she stole his breath away wherein he privately basked in the memory of that embrace, for it felt luxurious and rare and necessary to hold her then, he could admit that much. Yes, the simple truth was – the world felt safe inside those seconds they spent wrapped around one another – a stolen moment made from adrenaline and relief that covered them akin to a blanket straight out of the drier._

"It was a memorable moment … as fleeting as it was …...," she whispered before her face fell slightly and her voice trailed off.

 _Tom smiled at her then, watching as her mind played with the timing of it all while he did the same – fully captivated by her fascination – and of the idea of the conception of a baby upon a Navy destroyer … a tiny ray of hope created inside the eye of a storm at sea._

He sighed and offered his opinion, "My best guess … it was after the Italian cruise ship – _after Ensign Benz's death, he and Green were tight before they got on the James_ – they had history." He shook his head and found himself rationalizing the couple's actions again. "The loss of brother is … traumatic … and well – _things were confusing and the virus was new to the crew_ – and we hadn't picked Tex up yet at Gitmo … so Green didn't have a bunkmate …," he reasoned thoughtfully.

Rachel smiled and kept her eyes trained on the couple. _"Makes sense … the opportunity … the rationale for a stolen moment …,"_ she contemplated and then turned back to Tom. "Do you think those happen more than you realize?" she wondered then.

Tom held her gaze, "What?"

"Stolen moments," she answered.

Tom found himself smiling. "Moments _alone_ , perhaps …," he breathed. "But any sailor will tell you – _sex on the ship is just way too risky_ – and nothing good generally comes from it …," he said and then he shook his head as he stared at her still. "Except for maybe in this case," he chuckled, surprising them both.

Rachel smiled. "Yes … we should focus on the positive …," she agreed, her eyes playful now as she pinned them to his. "And just so we're clear … _Captain_ …," she whispered suggestively. "I like to take risks," she sassed, promptly lightening the mood.

Tom rolled his eyes teasingly and agreed, "I know you do."

The young lovers emerged from their private corner just then. "Shall we?" Rachel wondered, glancing their way.

"Sure," he replied.

 _They stood in unison and approached the couple where Tom decided to hang back and let Rachel take the lead. He smiled tightly, his eyes vacillating between both lieutenants, a bystander for the moment as he watched the scene unfold as Rachel engaged with Kara first by embracing the younger woman while Tom slowly nodded with encouragement to Danny, tenaciously holding his gaze where he silently acknowledged their plight and identified with their high emotions._

Clapping Danny on the back, he maintained his focus on the positive. "Fortunately for us _– we've got a team of experienced pilots to fly us to our destination_ – and in a weeks' time, we'll be back," he smiled broadly. "If we went Navy style, it would be six months," he surmised evenly. "I know that doesn't mean much – _but in light of everything_ – we have to live _this_ life at the moment … and keep our eyes on the prize," he suggested.

"Yes, Sir," Foster answered with a curt nod.

"We're all right, Sir," Green confirmed, his sensitive eyes moving to Kara's before he turned back to Tom and nodded.

Tom smiled broadly, appreciating them. "You're better than all right, you have each other," he deemed thoughtfully.

 _###_

Having been airborne now for about five of the seventeen-hour flight, Tom, Rachel, Mike and Russ finished reviewing the finer particulars of the mission. The only intricate detail that remained unclear was the ideal timing for Rachel to administer the contagious cure boosters to Jed and the kids. The singular limitation of the cure was that it was only contagious for about five days once it took hold and became viable. As such, the team collectively decided to wait until the island was liberated before administering the booster, as one was dependent upon the other.

So as the plan stood now, once Green obtained the all-clear from Tom's team, the boosters would be administered and they would make the two-hour flight from Subic Bay Freeport Zone to the tip of the Palawan Islands via a large twin-engine amphibious flying boat they had secured from the Philippines government.

From there, the tac-teams would be reunited and thereafter begin curing the sick people quarantined along the coast, resulting in the _'freeing'_ of the _'hostages'_ located further inland ( _the people who had been safe from the virus all along because of the island's locale and wind patterns_ ).

 _Sighing with satisfaction now, Tom enjoyed a temporary reprieve – having somehow found himself sitting alone on an airplane full of people – Rachel having gotten up to stretch her legs while Russ and Mike began to debrief the men. As such, Tom took the opportunity to collect his thoughts, training his eyes on the horizon through the small window to his right – once again reminded of the stark differences between this mission and others under his authority – his perch high in the sky this time, with only one window to the outside world, the 'vessel' in someone else's control – versus his all-encompassing view from the bridge and the hands-on manner by which he commanded a Navy destroyer._

 _Grappling with his feelings of loss of control, Tom redirected his focus and watched the kids for a beat. Tilting his head as he made eye contact with his father – whom nodded in assent with approval – a relaxed Sam curled into the crook of his arm. He smiled and regarded Ashley, her legs tucked under a blanket, her chin balanced in the palm of her hand as she dozed without worry. Beyond her, he observed Phillip Harley, a reading light on above his head, a hot cup of something on his tray table as he poured through stacks and stacks of photographs._

Indeed, everything was quiet – _save for the hum of the jet as it swiftly moved them across the ocean_ – full speed ahead toward their destination at six-hundred miles per hour … the wild blue yonder of the sky … just as vast and endless as the sea.

 _###_

Much later, after a quick debrief with Holbrooke following the successful exercise of the mid-flight refuel _– and just under ten hours of flying time accumulated_ – Tom watched the sun set via his small gateway to the outside world and only then did he finally feel the balance of his adrenaline ebb slightly … wherein he noticed the same was true for the rest of the team, seeing now that everyone was retreating and recharging in their own way.

 _Burk, Green and Cruz … sitting erect, eyes closed. Miller in his own world – headphones on – eyes pinned to the sherbet colored sky of dusk. Wolf Taylor, chin cradled in his palm, a book entitled, 'The Fighter's Mind: Inside the Mental Game' lay on his chest … and Mike and Jeter, a sight to behold, seats reclined, the dynamic duo … fast asleep._

Smiling to himself, he exhaled and felt amassed fatigue reach his eyes as he took once last look at his family while they slept on without anxiety. And then to his left, where he finally allowed himself a private moment to focus on Rachel – _her soulful eyes closed, her gorgeous face, relaxed_ – wherein he noticed the fierce intensity of her persona was missing and all that remained was the woman he'd fallen for again and again. And it was on this thought that the curtain of his mind closed … and sleep came for him as well.

 _###_

 _Ensconced within his deep thoughts, the world fell away and Tom inhaled a lasting breath of the deep sea air; his eyes closed to the vast horizon in front of him for lost beat in time. The cold wind slammed against his face, but the high-noon sun warmed his back akin to a hug._

 _He exhaled and gripped the cool metal railing of the bow and listened contently to the familiar hum and din of the ship and sound of the water churning far below him as the vessel moved on and forward in perpetuity._

 _With his eyes still closed, he concluded, there really was nothing more serene than a moment alone amongst so many sailors – for the life of a Naval Captain was at times, a lonely one – and yet time spent truly alone at sea … was rare._

 _Of course there were split seconds, moments spent alone in deep thought on the bridge as the sun rose or set over the horizon – reflective moments where time came to halt and everything was at peace – but those moments were often stolen … and quickly forgotten when duty called and time began to move again._

 _He shifted on his feet and quietly held himself inside this moment – maintaining his solitary stance – he inhaled sharply and savored the briny breath of air as if it was his last._

 _###_

Roused from his dreamscape, Tom blinked rapidly now, his eyes adjusting to the fragmented light while he quickly assessed his surroundings. He turned to his left and saw Rachel wasn't there. He stood and stretched his back – _slowly making his way toward the small sliver of light coming from the rear of the aircraft_ – his eyes moving along the sea of his slumbering companions as he did.

 _Stepping into the triangle of light – time indeed halted again – as he found Rachel alone, her gorgeous figure eclipsed by the oversized sweater she had donned during the flight. She was standing in the rear of the galley kitchen – her right hand formed into a purposeful fist – her arm stretched out in front of her. She opened her hand and repeated the exercise, the fluorescent light seeming to accentuate the crease of discomfort that formed along her beautiful face. He shifted on his feet and she turned and found him there. She smiled and took his breath away without even trying._

He entered the small space and came to stand in front of her where she backed into a deep corner and peered up to him. "You all right?" he asked of her then, resisting his innate urge to gather her in his arms and covet her.

She searched his eyes for answers, much like she always seemed to do. She smiled and answered, "Just stiff."

"Anything I can do?" he wondered, furtively assessing her well-being – _his voice hushed by the hum of the jet engines_ – her expressive, yet tired eyes tenaciously pinned to his now as he stepped closer.

Her chest rose as she inhaled sharply and looked beyond his shoulder to the entryway. "No … I just took a Motrin …," she replied softly, reaching for his hand, she effectively restored their connectivity: _instant, familiar … essential_.

"First one since this morning?" he queried, pressing his palm against hers, he laced fingers through hers and held her steady.

She smiled with appreciation and stepped closer to him, her cheeks flushed now, "Yes … I hadn't felt the need until I woke up a bit ago."

 _He sighed and felt her cloistered stress ebb, though he was well aware that her unease was still percolating … an undercurrent of sorts. But then the tension in her hand eased and he reacted – rotating their mutual stance so he could more easily watch the entryway behind her – and thereby ensure their privacy for this stolen moment._

"That's good news," he smiled, for her reduced need for medication was a true mark of her healing. "Is it working yet?" he whispered thickly.

 _His heart racing slightly as the subtlety of her magnetism urged him forward now – where he found he was unable to quell his desire to touch her and without thinking – he raised his free hand and traced his fingertips along her halo and came to cup her face._

She titled her head into his hand and leaned into his touch. She smiled. "Yes, I think so … I'm fatigued again," she answered, wherein she closed her eyes briefly and pinned her hands to his hips.

Tom sighed and watched her for a beat, smoothing her hair away from her face. "Shall we?" he asked of her then.

She opened her gateways and stared at him, her simple beauty on display. "Yes, let's …," she whispered her reply.

 _And so they released their hold upon one another and turned toward the entryway together – but not before Rachel tugged on his arm – drawing him back and away from the darkened cabin and into her embrace where they held one another for a long, private moment. A singular lost moment in time travel – one where they relinquished the balance of their stresses, fears and lingering fatigue – innately absorbing those harsh elements for one another. Sighing in tandem – they breathed together – silently reestablishing their connection now without restraint, whereupon they drew the strength they needed from their willful union._

 _Tom inhaled sharply, his heart beating wildly, his nose pressed into her crown – the essence of her shampoo filling his lungs as he breathed her in – her arms slung low against his back with her cheek to his chest, her ear to his heart. Letting go, his eyes promptly shut where he lingered with her, deep inside those cherished minutes alone … minutes that somehow became tantamount to a full night's sleep._

Rachel sighed into their heat and tipped her head up to find him, her intense eyes softer around the edges now. "I needed this …," she confessed. "A stolen moment with you …," she breathed.

His heart thumped. "Me too," he whispered before he ducked his head down and impulsively brushed his lips across hers – _both warm and vital, he delivered a kiss that was barely there at all_ – but resonated where it mattered most: _in the deep fiber of his being._

 _###_

Having slept uninterrupted for about two hours, Tom settled back into his seat after escorting Sammy to the restroom and depositing him into the seat to his right. He raised the armrest where his boy promptly lay his head down and burrowed deep into an Air Force issue blanket. He sighed and traced comforting circles along his warm back, waiting now for his breathing to regulate.

Relishing in the comfort his son provided, Tom trained his eyes on Rachel now, asleep on the row of seats facing his – _armrests raised, she'd assembled a makeshift bed_ – her head elevated on a stack of blankets, her right arm stabilized by her left hand. Her simple beauty evident, her face illuminated by the dim cabin lights. Tom's stared at her for a long while then, the quiet solitude just enough for him to stop and really appreciate just how far they'd come on this journey together. With his own breathing regulated now, he lost himself in her tranquility for a beat longer before his thoughts turned to the mission again.

Before long, he reached for his tablet and toggled the device. It came to life, the ambient light radiating as he accessed the satellite images of the islands. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he surveyed the small string of tropical islands, searching for the variant or outlier they hadn't uncovered of yet – _for there was always something that cropped up when it came to uncharted territory_ – whether it be at sea or on land, one rule of thumb held true: _the unexpected was always unexpected._

 _He studied the images, still unable to put his finger on what seemed troublesome, for even with the refugee-insurgent camps set up along the coastline – the islands, Flora in particular – were gorgeous and well-preserved … somehow proving that the world was a beautiful place before the virus took hold and ravaged it so._

Somewhat defeated now, Tom accessed the heat maps Mason had provided – _recalling Gator's report that the instances of heat in the more remote parts of the island were too small to be human_ – but there was something so curious about a one of clusters he'd spotted. He zoomed in on the map now and found it with ease – _it was a mass of yellow-orange (which meant less heat)_ – but it was larger than all of the other remote spots on the overlay ( _aside from the red sensors one could see and would expect, which indicated the position of the hotel and of course and the refugee-insurgent populace_ ).

 _He sighed with resignation, he wasn't troubled by it per say – but he was curious – for the heat was in a remote spot, near a fresh stream that ran through the middle of the island. It was an outlier. An unknown. And once the island was liberated, Tom knew the team would have to investigate it._

It was here that he sat back to ponder this idea in greater detail until he smelled the faint essence of coffee waft through the cabin. Akin to Pavlov's dog, his sensors began to stir. Craning his neck back, he saw Harley's profile in the kitchen. He'd donned a jacket and was rubbing his hands together. Tom smiled into himself and turned back to the tablet where he switched gears and began to review a map of the terrain.

Before long, Harley came upon him, double-fisted. Tom looked up to find him, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "Not quite morning … or evening, Mr. Harley," he chortled, careful not to disturb Sam and Rachel.

"Captain …," the reporter smiled kindly. "I saw you were up too and thought you might like to join me for a cup … black … right?" he queried, offering one of the cups to Tom.

"That's right," Tom nodded, appreciating the man's attention to detail as he held the hot cup, the aroma filling his lungs now. "Please … sit," he motioned to the empty seat to his left. "Tell me about yourself," he added casually, searching for a common ground.

He shifted in his seat and set the tablet next to his thigh, the remaining light diminishing now as the pair sat in the fragmented darkness together.

"Time for my second interview?" Harley asked pointedly as he sat down.

"No …," Tom smiled. "But what know of each other is rather superficial, even what you know about me could be deemed as such," he elaborated and took a sip of the scalding elixir.

Harley smiled and maneuvered his tray table into position. He set his cup down. "And so … now you want to delve?" he wondered, sparring lightly.

Tom shook his head. "No, I don't want to pry …," he replied with sincerity, finding the man's eyes in the dim light. "But given the state of the world – _and what people out there have been up against_ – I'd like to know your story … I mean … why would it make sense that your story is any less important than mine," he appealed to Harley's intellect with diplomacy now.

"I suppose, in some ways, you're right … only thing is, I wasn't in command of the ship that brought the cure to the world …," he smiled appreciatively.

"Well … there's that, yes … but in the end – _aren't we both just men_ – caught in the crossfire of this thing?" Tom wondered, his circular thoughts on fate and destiny resurfacing now.

"Men with timing on our side … and wits to help us out …," Harley breathed poetically.

Tom smiled. "I suppose _– but you are about to spend a week with my family_ – and again in today's world, people may not be as forthcoming as they once were … and coming from the cutthroat environment we all just lived through, I'm sure you can appreciate my … reluctance to trust … outsiders …," he sighed heavily.

Harley nodded in assent and answered, "I understand … really I do … it's just been a long time since someone asked me how I was doing." He took a sip of his coffee.

Tom sighed, sensing the man's unease. "It can be lonely world …," he offered then, his eyes moving over the cabin until he focused on the rise and fall of Ashley's chest. His heart pinched.

"It can be …," Harley offered. "Even without an apocalypse," he smirked, though his glassy eyes betrayed him.

 _Tom sighed and thought of Harley all alone out there and even though the man was rather harsh and judgmental the day they met, he also knew that Harley had character and a keen desire for the truth – for he had survived and persevered – and like many pragmatists, Tom and Rachel included, he hadn't given up on his search for answers … and that had to count for something._

"So … how _are_ you doing?" Tom asked of him then, pushing aside his need to protect his loved ones in favor of lending him an ear. "How have you been?" he persisted casually, his eyes fixed on the reporter's now, his free hand in place on Sammy's back.

 _Harley smiled at the gesture and inhaled sharply … and from that moment on, it was as if a floodgate was opened. For he left no part of his own story untold, easing into an open and honest rapport with Tom about his life … and his life choices._

 _For Harley was a career reporter and most of his adult life was spent traipsing the globe for National Geographic Magazine. He was one of those people who took took ingenious, gritty photographs and wrote stories that illuminated the earth and its populaces. He was architect in his own rite and lobbied for his own points of view through his storytelling – he was well traveled and extremely well educated – and after speaking with him, Tom thought he was both sympathetic and empathetic to the causes and the people he cared deeply about … and therein, he reminded him of Rachel._

 _Harley also concluded that 'this life had become his life' – and by that he meant – that he forewent the idea of a traditional lifestyle in favor of the chase. He often didn't pursue relationships because his curiosities were not yet satisfied … his drive for answers had not yet been quelled. Sure … he'd met plenty of women over the years – one or two that perhaps held his attention and garnered the idea of a life yet lived – but he also admitted … he always thought he had time. He always thought there would be an opportunity._

 _And then the virus took hold and it became his greatest quest and the most damning sign of a reality he had long-since discounted and dismissed: he was lonely. He was only child and his parents had passed away years ago (thank goodness they were spared from the virus) … which left him alone in his fight for survival. A fight that became daunting in a way he hadn't expected. With no bloodline. And no legacy to lean on in the worst of times._

 _###_

"So … you see … I'm alone in this world," he concluded evenly, his eyes glassy now. "And the joke is, I always have been …," he muttered. "There's no cruel twist of fate here," he sighed resolutely. "I chose this life – _and I kept waiting for the right time, kept waiting for a sign_ – or something … or _someone_ who'd make me want to slow down and create a life in one place …," he shook his head and looked away.

Tom sighed and took the last sip of his coffee. He set the cup down on Harley's tray table and searched for the words to articulate his thoughts. "You're not alone," he deemed after a long moment, his eyes drifted to Rachel. His heart leapt. "And I think you _know_ that …," he encouraged. "Most of us are rethinking how we lived our lives before the virus …," he sighed, his thoughts migrating to his own shortcomings. "And how we could have done or said things differently…," he breathed. "How we could have been more honest in our approach … how we could have said how we really felt … but never trusted ourselves enough…," he mused, training his eyes on Harley's now.

The subdued reporter nodded. "I suppose, it's the human condition … and in some ways, one would expect a gross amount of reflection …," he offered. "Which would yield any number of unanswered questions and unearthed emotions … I'm a prime example of that …," he sighed, his voice trailed off; he twirled his empty cup in his hand and set it down on the tray table.

Tom studied Harley now, watching him for signs of duress before he replied, "It's precisely that way – _and from my own perspective I've often wondered_ – why the Nathan James didn't arrive in Baltimore with those first doses of the cure … even a couple hours earlier …," he shook his head in disbelief that Darien was indeed gone, even now, after everything. "For if we had, my wife … she might have had a fighting chance …," he confessed, his voice cracked.

 _He cleared his throat and tipped his head up in an effort to push his waiting tears into recession – for his goal had not been to make this conversation about him – he inhaled sharply and righted his head, looking on at Rachel's sleeping form again as his heart was pummeled in an unexpected battle between lost and found … loves._

Harley followed his gaze and smiled weakly. He turned back to Tom. "Life is unpredictable, Captain … and timing, irrevocable …," he declared then, his serious eyes vacillating now. "That much as been proven – _it's like tsunamis or earthquakes or cyclones or tornadoes_ – there's no rhyme or reason to them … they just happen …," he muttered.

Tom nodded in assent. "That they do," he agreed.

"And no amount of perfect timing can protect us because there's no such thing as the ideal time for an ill-fated natural disaster … or for destinies interrupted … or redefined by change …," he vindicated aloud.

"Fate …," sighed Tom. "It always comes down to fate …," he breathed. "We've been grappling with that – _Rachel and I_ – this idea of fate or destinies … redefined … and it's a lot to ponder …," he confided, offering Harley some insight into the sensitive nature of his relationship with Rachel.

"Except … there's nothing to ponder really – _that's just life_ – and it's always been that way …," he rationalized, training his intense eyes on Tom's.

"You sound a lot like my father," Tom mused thoughtfully. And then he smiled. "A summons for change, perhaps?" he queried now. "With a second chance … or two or three thrown in for good measure," he sighed heavily, daunted by the intricacies of it all.

Harley interjected now. "Call it what you will, Captain – _but nothing will change the fact that the world got tipped on its side when that virus struck_ – and that you and Dr. Scott ended up on your ship together … the perfect match to defeat the perfect storm … a partnership … a relationship made of perseverance, selflessness and hope," he suggested ardently.

Tom sighed with resignation and trained his eyes on Harley's again. He pressed his lips into a thin contemplative line and shook his head. "Remember when I asked you how you were doing?" he chuckled.

Harley smiled, "I do."

"Then how come we're talking about me?" Tom muttered.

"Because I'm good at my job," Harley answered.

Tom sighed, "A fact I can't refute." And then he smiled. "What if I left that offer on the table then?" he wondered.

Harley exhaled heavily and nodded in assent, "I'd like that."

"You know, you'll be surrounded by fine people this week … and you should take advantage of that …," Tom suggested then. "My father and Rachel …," he smiled. "And Lieutenant Green and Colonel Holbrooke … _really_ … they're cream of the crop … plus, you get my kids for the innocence factor …," he sighed wistfully.

Harley chuckled and his eyes softened, "Sounds like a good deal."

"It is …," Tom agreed. "And so … in the interest of forming some bonded relationships – _for yourself and your future_ – I urge you to start now … with us …," he sighed. "Because there's no time like the present … and we both know that," he offered sincerely … finally finding that common ground.

"Yes… I suppose we do," Harley acquiesced gracefully.

"It's the here and now that matters most …," Tom exhaled, his eyes landing on Rachel. He inhaled sharply and his eyes stung with emotion – _for they had each other_ – and the truth was, they had more than most.

"Yes … something akin to a new beginning," Harley offered, his eyes moving between Rachel and Tom now.

Tom nodded in assent. "And so it seems … _that_ time is upon us now – _and_ _whether our fates or destinies have been altered_ – you and my father are right … that's really irrelevant …," he exhaled and held Harley's gaze. "It's what we do with this second chance, that counts …," he impressed upon him.

 _And with that statement of truth, Tom began to answer some of Harley's questions on the finer points of the mission – outlining the scientific urgency – diplomatically focusing on the peacekeeping and nation building aspects of it all as these ideals were aligned with Michener's overall message._

 _Before long, their discussion moved on to Harley's article wherein Tom asked the man for a reprieve so that he and Rachel could speak with the kids about their relationship before the publication. Harley, more affable now, agreed to this term and offered Tom his support, in whatever means possible._

 _Tom sat back and appreciated the sincerity of Harley's gesture, realizing now just how far they'd come since he offered him that cup of coffee. Seeing more clearly now that sometimes – people just needed a second chance – and not just for what seemed to define them on the surface as they once were not too long ago: Tom, a Naval Captain, tried and true, unquestioning in his endeavors … and Harley, a loner with an imaginative mind and eye for a good story … but for what they were now: men … just men with a common ground on a quest for survival._

 _The conversation waned and Harley retreated back to his seat where promptly closed his eyes and Tom was left alone with his thoughts again. He closed his eyes too and drifted off to some other place entirely until he sensed a shift in the here and now and opened his eyes whereupon he saw Rachel was awake and watching him. He smiled and exhaled._

"Is Sam all right?" she asked, her voice laden with sleep.

"Yes," he breathed with a smile.

She smiled too and gingerly pushed herself up. She rose from her _'bed'_ and came to sit next to him where her sleepy eyes found his in the darkness. "I'm glad," she whispered, naturally slipping her warm hand into his. "Is this okay?" she wondered, looking down at their hands.

Tom gave her hand a squeeze in response, quickly scanning the cabin as he did. "Yes," he answered, his eyes fastened to hers now – _comforted by her mere proximity, he leaned into her, his lifeline tethered now_ – their faces so close that he could easily spot those sparkling ochre specks in her eyes that captivated him so. "Do you know how lucky we are?" he whispered thickly then, his heart racing.

"I do … you know I do …," she breathed her answer _– pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek_ – her lips lingering just long enough to make an impression.

 _Tom inhaled sharply and turned his head then, wasting no time before he kissed her sweet, familiar lips – soft and supple, he pulsed his mouth against hers – and lost himself inside the protective canopy of yet another stolen moment with her … because the man he was, right now … sought their connection. And rather than stand on ceremony and wait for the right time to present itself … he decidedly seized the moment instead. For the world was indeed changing – and he was determined to change right along with it – for what more could a man do than go after what he wanted most: the dream of a life yet lived._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 15**

 _Colonel Holbrooke landed the Gulfstream without incident along the narrow airstrip at the Naval Air Station at Cubi Point, the waters of Subic Bay glittering against the dense fog of the deep night, although foreign … was a welcoming sight. The nighttime air was humid, damp and on the cooler side with a faint subtropical essence, there too. It was just before midnight, Philippines time, and so far their arrival was right on schedule for the Vulture Team's eventual departure in three hours' time._

Following the formality of putting faces to names with their local counterparts, the team waited briefly for Holbrooke as he observed the safe towing of the Gulfstream into the hangar via a wireless remote-controlled aircraft tug. Pleased with the security measures provided for the aircraft, Holbrooke and his team rejoined the group along with Lieutenant General Leon Bautista, the highest ranking Filipino Armed Forces representative and survivor of the virus, thus far.

 _Bautista was a handsome man with a perfect, natural tan – nearing his mid-fifties with a head of black hair, intense black eyes – and a disarming, diplomatic smile all packaged together with a firm handshake. He wore a standard khaki uniform, complete with shoulder insignias adorned with three stars and an impressive ribbon bar, two-inches thick. From his dossier, the team learned he was a well-decorated, career army man and that before the virus took hold, he was nearing the mandatory retirement age of fifty-six. Having outlived his successor and his predecessor – he was next in line to be the top man in charge and appeared ever-ready for the challenge – though admittedly, he was humbled by the scope and outreach of this joint mission. Adding to that, he was somewhat smitten by the infamous Dr. Rachel Scott._

Before long, the teams were ushered into two government-issued SUV's – _Tom's exhausted children and father, Rachel, Jeter, Harley and himself in the first, along with Bautista_ – and the balance of the team in the second. Once en-route to their destination, the Lieutenant General gave them a narrative about their accommodations at the American International School of Subic Bay, formerly the location of a high-end hotel ( _until the private school purchased the site a few years back_ ).

The gated community – _equipped with a five-hundred bed dormitory facility_ – was located about fifteen minutes from the base, and as such, became the logical venue for higher ranking military officials, dignitaries and their families to set up residence once the virus was widespread. Bautista and his wife resided there – _a fact he was happy to report_ – as he emphatically assured Tom that every security measure had been taken, having arranged for several rooms to be prepared for the team along his own residential corridor.

 _###_

 _Presently, the vehicle stopped at an armed barricade set up along the perimeter of the school wherein Tom took the opportunity to gather his bearings. He inclined his head and peered out the window to look at the façade of the school in plain view after having seen only satellite imagery of the property. Both well-lit and well-maintained, the primary building appeared to be of modern design and in good condition. The lighting was notably spectacular and highlighted the architectural genius of the space that made the school appear welcoming, yet serious at the same time. Scanning the landscape further now – Tom observed armed guards positioned on both the ground and the corner balconies with the very real intention of being seen – for their presence was a warning, and one that no doubt, was serious._

 _Turning his attention now to the finer details, it wasn't hard to see that this place had been designed with the elitist in mind – manicured lawns, pristine landscaping, sweeping tropical trees – the idyllic setting parents paid top-dollar for when it came to an over-priced private education. And somehow, as if a miracle – that selective attitude still sprang from within – despite the eroded state of the world all around it._

 _And then all at once, the place and its energy abruptly reminded him of Avocet. He sighed heavily, pushing the ominous thought aside and inhaled sharply, the sticky air clinging to his nostrils as he looked away and spotted Rachel … her eyes pinned to the façade. The vehicle began to move again and she peered up and out of her window, following the line of trees that flanked the entryway._

" _Remind you of something?"_ she whispered then and Tom knew she was speaking to him.

He sighed. "Yes," he exhaled, his eyes meeting Harley's for a beat.

"It's eerie … really, isn't it?" she wondered, turning to find him in the darkness.

"Uncanny … yes …," was all he found he could say.

 _###_

With just over two hours to regroup, the beleaguered travelers followed Bautista _– flanked by two armed men, through the handsomely furnished lobby_ – his curt nod to the uniformed officers behind the check-in desk was the only deviation of his full attention to the task at hand. Once inside a large glass elevator, their host turned to address them.

"You will be happy here, you will see," Bautista said with a pleasing smile, he nodded to the group, but especially focused on engaging with the kids. Ashley smiled a tired smile and peeked up to Tom.

Tom nodded in return, drawing the children near. "I'm sure it will be just fine," he smiled.

The elevator chimed at the top floor and the group stepped off, following Bautista through the small security checkpoint, they moved now with a flurry of activity as they meandered down a long corridor, bags in tow, to the very end.

Bautista turned and pointed to a door in the corner. "This is the door to my quarters," he said then. "And here …," he turned around and pointed to two doors adjacent from his. "Are your quarters," he smiled. "See … we are not only partners, but neighbors," he said gracefully.

 _###_

 _Having been shown the space, Bautista left the team to settle in, informing Tom that he would oversee their transport back to the airstrip himself. From there the team would rendezvous with the balance of his people and move into the next phase of the mission. As it stood now, Rachel, Jed and the kids would be in one suite while Green, Cruz, Holbrooke and Harley would occupy the other._

 _Tom stood now at the large bay window overlooking the campus – the air damp, yet cool, smelled of tropical flowers – he inhaled sharply and shifted on his feet, straining his eyes to see the coastline he knew was obscured by the fog. The kids and his father were busy unpacking while Jeter, Mike, Burk and Miller relaxed on the sofas for a moment behind him. Rachel had excused herself to her room. His mind was racing, adrenaline for what was to come, not yet pumping as he was focused instead on his family. After he bid them a farewell, he'd reset his brain … but for now, he wanted to live in the moment. He wanted to feel everything: fear, concern, affection._

 _He turned around and quickly surveyed the common area of the suite now – the textiles were gray and white with simple, clean lines and lots of open space – a style that was functional, yet aesthetically pleasing with several small sofas and a kitchenette, soft lighting and of course, a study area. Miller stood and retreated to the refrigerator. He pulled some water bottles from within and quietly handed one to each man, including Tom._

"Thank you," he replied.

"Welcome, Sir," the fresh-faced ensign answered.

 _Tom unscrewed the cap and took a long sip of the cold water, looking beyond the common room to the doorways of the bedrooms … his father in one and the kids in the other, along with Rachel in her own room, which was located at the end of a short hallway. She emerged just then and lingered there for a beat. From her stance, Tom could easily see she was fatigued, but he found her just as beautiful as ever. She was cradling her elbow, but did not appear to be in pain. He tilted his head and smiled and wondered what she was thinking. A knock at the interior door broke their connection and he turned away. Jed opened the door and Green stood with Harley on the other side._

"Do you want to leave this open?" he inquired with a tired smile.

Jed smiled in return. "That's all right by me,"he answered and turned to Rachel. "How about you?" he asked of her.

Rachel smiled at the men. "I'd like that," she answered.

Harley stepped over the threshold then. "Captain … I'll bid you a farewell now," he said, holding his hand out. "What does one say before a mission anyway? Godspeed?" he wondered with a small reflective smile.

Tom smiled and shook Harley's hand. "That'll work," he replied to the beleaguered traveler, nodding in assent. "You remember what I said now, won't you?" he prompted then.

"I will …," the photographer smiled gratefully, an ease about him that Tom hadn't noticed before. "Dr. Scott … Mr. Chandler … until tomorrow …," he sighed wistfully.

 _###_

After a fair amount of settling in, Tom nodded to his father and Rachel before he followed Ashley and Sam into their bedroom to say goodbye and to tuck them in. The room was outfitted with two single beds – _complete with a desk and an armoire on either side of the room_ – the ambiance finished off with white sheets, gray comforters and soft bedside lighting. Ashley smiled at him and slipped into the restroom.

 _He turned to find Sam and watched him slide into his bed, the dark circles under his eyes, suddenly evident. Tom's chest tightened for his boy and all he had endured thus far … and therein, the clock seemed to come to a slow, grinding halt … and all that really mattered in the world, was this moment. He sighed and felt oddly out of place in his uniform – something that had never happened to him before. A lot like a fish out of water, he shifted on his feet and moved to sit on the edge of the small twin bed, his mind racing on this farewell and how unique it felt – almost an anomaly, except that it wasn't – for somehow this moment belonged in the new world order._

"Did you brush your teeth?" he wondered absentmindedly, suddenly struck by how much Sam reminded him of Darien, right now, even still. His heart twisted.

"Yep," Sam smiled, looking up.

 _Tom inched forward and brushed his hand across the boy's brow, doting on him for a lost beat in time. Ashley exited the restroom and Tom waited for her to emerge, holding her gaze when she did – he patted his hand upon his knee and she rushed forward and sat on his lap – curling into him like she did when she was just a small girl. Her embrace was special – and the way he felt when she hugged him (really hugged him) was matched by no other feeling – for there was just something about the purposeful way she did things when she really meant it. And he loved her for it and savored that feeling now, locking it down, preserving the memory of her in his arms for all time. He reached for Sam's hand and closed his eyes, safely wrapped around his children now._

" _I'm really gonna miss you, Dad,"_ came Ashley's soft voice.

Tom opened his eyes and sighed, turning her in his arms so he could really look at her. "I'm going to miss you too …," he smiled weakly, a sparkle still embedded in her eyes, despite her obvious reservations. He turned to Sam. "And don't think I forgot about how much I'm going to miss you too," he redirected softly.

Sam pressed his lips together into a grin. "I know," he answered, a smile reaching his eyes. "When we see each other again … it will be on the island and after the sick people are better … we can go swimming together in the ocean …," he prattled on and then promptly yawned.

"That's right," Tom answered with a smile of his own. "We can," he exhaled, still amazed at how pragmatic his children had become, his father's influence, no doubt.

Sam yawned again and Ashley took a deep breath and shifted in his lap. "Are you scared?" she asked of him then.

 _Tom exhaled and searched for the right answer – the precise combination of the truth and fallacy – the light changed behind him and he noticed Rachel standing in the doorway now. She smiled and he nodded in assent. She stepped inside, leaving the door ajar, the room a shade or two darker now. She sat down on a chair in the corner, the softer light obscuring the finer details of how she really felt._

"No … and yes …," he finally answered, finding Ashley's eyes in the shadowy light of darkness.

"What makes you scared?" Sam asked, studying his face.

"The unexpected …," he breathed into their confessional.

"Surprises …," Ashley exhaled contemplatively.

Sam sighed heavily. "I used to like surprises," he said flatly and then he suddenly smiled brightly, his eyes pinned to his sister's now. "Remember when Mommy used to let us sleep in on a school day, Ash –"

"What?" Tom laughed, his heart alighted. "Really?" he chortled, his eyes dancing with Sam's now.

"She did, Dad … and it was always a _great_ surprise," Ashley smiled brightly. "We'd play hooky – _not all the time, of course_ – but after a big movie release, she'd sometimes keep us home on the Monday after so we could go and see it without all the crowds," she shook her head and smiled, blinking her tears away with haste.

"Best Monday's ever," Sam grinned.

 _Tom's heart shimmied in place. He tousled Sam's hair and drew Ashley closer, his eyes landing on Rachel's for a beat wherein she smiled at him – her gaze intense, her eyes glassy – she blinked and looked away._

"That's a good memory of a great surprise," he sighed, his mind on Darien now … his heart pricked at him, low and deep.

Ashley stirred in his arms then and noticed Rachel. Tom followed her gaze until she turned her attention back to him. "I'm not scared, Dad," she announced then, her eyes pinned to Rachel's now. "Because of Rachel … and how brave she is … I know I can be brave too," she said, wherein Rachel's small gasp of surprise filled the room, her watery gateways vacillating now. Tom inhaled sharply.

Rachel didn't move and neither did Tom, but Ashley did. She stood and crossed the room to Rachel and leaned down to give her a hug. Rachel hugged the girl in return, her eyes fixed to Tom's now over the girl's shoulder. "You already are brave, sweet girl …," she whispered. "Braver than most, both you and Sam are so brave …," she hushed fervently.

Tom sat motionless, for all he could do was hold his breath and savor the moment, stolen away with those he treasured most in the world … _far, far away from his homeland_ … and on the precipice of another mission of a lifetime. He smiled as Rachel stood with Ashley and helped her into bed, coming to sit on the edge of it directly across from him – _her hand resting on the girl's back as she settled in_ – his eyes fused to hers until he heard Sam's hesitant voice.

" _Do you want to … be together, Daddy … with Rachel?"_

Again the world stopped spinning and Tom's heart suddenly fell to his depths. His pulse quickened and he held Rachel's gaze with tenacity now, losing himself inside her gateways: _comforting, steady, gorgeous_. He took a deep breath and swiftly turned his attention to Ashley – _laying on her side now, her hand nestled comfortably in Rachel's_ – her eyes, wise beyond her years, filled with what could have only been described as … _a glimmer of sorts_ … of something … perhaps hope. She smiled at Tom and so did Rachel.

Emerging from his haze, Tom turned back to Sam and found his curious eyes. "Yes, buddy …," he whispered the truth. "We do … we want that … if you want that," his rambled on, his eyes searching the boy's for answers.

Sam smiled and regarded his father. "I think that would be a _good_ surprise," he deemed innocently with the candor of a child.

"It is …," Tom answered, releasing a breath of air he didn't realize he'd held hostage.

 _With his heart beating wildly, still somewhat mystified by his boy and his pragmatism, Tom leaned down and he gathered his son in his arms – holding him tight now as he cherished the moment – closing his eyes, he sank deeper and deeper into their innate heat … both familiar and welcoming … for it belonged solely to father and son._

After a long moment, Ashley cackled behind him and he shifted to find her. She smiled, her long hair fanned out along the pillow, her eyes fatigued, yet sparkling with mischief all the same. "He saw you kiss each other on the airplane," she smirked then, giving her brother up.

 _In a flurry, Sam snorted, Rachel gasped and Tom was rendered speechless – he stole a look at his woman – her face instantly heated with shock and embarrassment, or both._

Rachel quickly recovered and glanced at Ashley and then back to Sam. "You weren't supposed to see that …," she whispered apologetically, shaking her head. "And not because we're embarrassed …," she reasoned. "But because we …," she exhaled, her voice trailing off, her eyes pinned to Tom's for a beat. "We _really_ want you to be happy … and we know, life isn't always made of happiness …," she explained, twisting her lips together, she wrestled with her unruly emotions. "But we want that for you … when you're ready … we'll be ready," she said with endearment.

"We do …," Tom harmonized. "That's the priority … your happiness is our priority …," he encouraged. "We just want you to feel safe and all right with this change …," he exhaled, his eyes searching for signs of distress from everyone in the room.

"Everything is okay right now," Ashley replied softly. "And we're happy … right Sam?" she queried, her eyes still bright.

Sam smiled and answered, "Right."

 _###_

 _Tom remained on his perch at Sam's side while the boy slipped off to dream of tomorrow. At some point, he realized he began to stare at Rachel and maybe or maybe not … had begun to process their imminent farewell. Imagining now what he might say and how it would feel to actually stand up and walk out that door. He swallowed hard and realized that time was running out – the hour they had left, ticking by at a snail's pace – and yet moving faster than the speed of sound._

 _He exhaled and grappled with the loss of control. He smiled weakly and focused instead on Ashley's breathing, both calm and serene with the promise of a good night sleep. Everything was so quiet inside the makeshift enclave now – for all that remained was Tom and Rachel and his blessed children – not Dr. Scott and Captain Chandler, not the accolades that had been bestowed upon them … not the cure, the mission, the fight … but the would-be lovers they were … and their eleventh-hour goodbye._

It was Rachel's turn to sigh and as she did, she looked to the door, her eyes pinned there for a long moment before she turned to Tom and shook her head, her gateways glassy with emotion. "Do you remember when Quincy screamed at me …," she whispered then, her voice trembling. She cleared her throat. "In the brig …," she prompted, inhaling sharply, her lips quivered.

Tom continued to stare her and nodded, "He said you had no skin in the game, I remember."

"Yes …," she blinked and more tears pooled in her reflective eyes. She looked down at Ashley and caressed her back, trailing her fingertips along her arrow-straight spine. She inhaled sharply, her breathing stacked, her eyes still downcast. _"Until now, maybe until just a little while ago – I might have argued that point – I had just as much invested as the next person …,"_ she exhaled, but it came out in a breathy laugh.

 _She swiftly turned back to Tom and it was here that he was struck by the intensity of her eyes. A look he'd seen plenty of times since they met – a look that reminded him of her unparalleled tenacity at times of high pressure during those darker hours spent in the lab on the James – either alone or with him looking over her shoulder … or the strength he noticed time and again when she would argue her point during one of their many passionate, intellectual spars._

"Rachel …," he began to appeal to her.

But she shook her head – _'no, no'_ – and pressed her lips together. "I fear … he might have been right, Tom … he was right all along …," she whispered, her waiting tears threatening to fall again. Tom sighed and continued to watch over her. He tilted his head and waited, wanting nothing more than to draw her near and hold her close, except he knew she needed space. "Do you remember how absolute he was? In his judgment of me?" she wondered then.

 _Tom pressed his lips into a thin line, recalling the heated fight they had inside the brig whilst he stood on the p-way and listened … listened to her, this woman – whom at the time he didn't fully trust – but whom eventually would become his savior … if only he knew then, what he knew now … by God, Quincy Tophet would have never spoken to her that way. Renewed anger percolated, for even though Tophet had redeemed himself by the time of his death … sometimes Tom begrudged everything they'd been through because of that traitor._

"I remember…," he sighed at last, deciding to hold his tongue.

She scoffed. "Until I had this dream, the one … the coma – _or whatever I should call it_ – and woke up … he may have been right about me … he was _definitely_ right …," she rambled on as if confessing now. "He was right …," she faltered, her eyes moving quickly over the kids in their beds, her hand still set gently along Ashley's back. "Because … when you're part of something bigger than yourself – _when you have people, a family_ – you _do_ have more to lose…," she exhaled, her breathing stacked; her waiting tears finally fell.

Tom swiftly moved and knelt down in front of her wherein he reached up and smoothed her hair away from her angular face. She leaned into his touch as if by rote and set her hands upon his shoulders. He looked up and found her eyes, glassy and endless. "Having a family, it doesn't make you any _more_ of a person … and it certainly it doesn't make what you have … any _less_ to lose …," he argued his point.

She sniffled. "Except as I sit here tonight – _with you and the children, tucked away_ – and your father and Slattery, Jeter … _Green, Burk, Miller, Cruz just outside_ … I'm truly lost …," she shook her head. "So lost within what I _could_ lose … and therefore … I see now, what he meant … in the way of an investment that would surpass the science of it all …," she heaved, her eyes so close now he could see the mounting insecurity within _– those minute flecks of darkness that she revealed only to him_ – the small pieces of herself that told him he was losing her.

"Listen to me …," he appealed to her, leaning up, he pressed a chaste kiss to her wet cheek and cupped her face in his hands. "If it's exoneration you're looking for, you don't need it … not from me … or anyone else …," he whispered urgently, his eyes searching hers.

"Tom …," she husked; she blinked, lowering another curtain of tears.

"Rachel …," he hushed, leaning in, his fingertips wet with the salt of the earth now. "Your investment in this game has _always_ been _more_ than skin deep …," he incited. "I mean … by God … without your willingness to fight for what you believed in … for what you _knew_ to be the answer for all of humanity … and _not_ just for yourself or because some Russian maniac kidnapped your family …," he exhaled, his blood pressure on the rise now. He breathed and set his forehead against hers; emotion funneled to his eyes. He collected himself and hesitated. "But instead … _because_ of how you're built … and what you've had to endure as a child … and what became of your life's work …," he breathed, inhaling sharply. "That's your investment _– that's the essence of what makes you tick, it's your legacy_ – and there's _nothing_ immaterial about it …," he reasoned, his voice catching, his heart thumping into his ears.

 _She folded then, curling into his embrace as he stood with her and held her tight – her petite form pressed against his now – the shadowy privacy of the moment swallowing him whole as the world indeed fell away. Swaying, he hushed and soothed her without words while she did the same for him, quelling his untold fears without evening trying. Breathing in tandem, he felt at ease and at peace, despite the difficult tasks ahead and relished now instead on the strength he garnered from her like no other._

She sighed and brazenly pressed her mouth over his pulse point, kissing his fluttering nerves. "I didn't want this," she husked against his flesh.

He pulled back slightly, one hand cradling her skull. "What didn't you want?" he asked of her, his heart rate elevated.

"Our last moments alone to be only about me … to raise a cause for concern," she whispered, her eyes darting beyond him to Ashley's sleeping form.

"Hey now … we still have a few minutes …," he answered, tilting his head. "And … if it's about you … isn't it about me at this point?" he wondered, quite taken with her veritable altruism, even if she didn't realize it was there.

"I suppose," she whispered, her hands set upon his forearms where she steadied herself. "Do you think what they said is true?" she asked of him … her eyes moving over the kids.

"I do …," he smiled, his chest tight. "It won't always be perfect … emotional outpouring is part of living …," he reasoned, simultaneously wondering why couldn't just … _say what he wanted to say_. He smiled weakly. "But I think we can manage, Rachel … to make them happy …," he sighed heavily, his eyes fastened to hers now.

"We …," she smiled reflectively.

"Yes … we…," he repeated.

"I'm all right …," she offered then, her cheeks still flushed. "We'll be all right," she vowed.

Tom sighed and traced his fingertips along her hairline. "I know," he whispered, setting his hand along her cheek … warm and familiar now.

Inclining her head, she eased into his lithe touch and stepped closer, her eyes darting to Sam's bed before she chuckled. "Kiss me …," she ordered breathlessly then. "Kiss me … but not goodbye," she beseeched of him.

 _And so he did. He kissed her – but not goodbye – he kissed her the way he wanted to, the way that said what he needed to say – without words: that he didn't want to leave like this … knowing they were in a strange land where he had no prior footing … with people he hadn't vetted himself. Her moan of pleasure pulled him from his thoughts and all of a sudden he was back with her – making slow love to her mouth – his fingertips and hands everywhere all at once as he backed her up, traveling slowly to the darkest corner of the room … steeling her away for himself, if only for a lost moment time._

"Three days … four tops …," he husked against her open mouth, cautiously censuring himself – _clinging to his restraint now as he began to kiss her in earnest again_ – consciously protecting her from what he really wanted to say, because she deserved that much … she deserved some peace of mind … and it was his to give to her.

She kissed him back with equal fervor – _her mouth a perfect fit_ – her tempo, smooth and eloquent, her tongue massaging his until she pulled back slightly and heaved a sigh. "You're holding back on me; I can tell …," she exhaled into their heat. "You don't have to do that … remember?" she prompted, raising her good hand, she brushed her fingertips along his lips.

He kissed her fingers and then the palm of her healing hand, "I do … and I'm not … the plan is solid … and after this … we'll regroup with the kids in –"

"Three … four days, tops … got it …," she whispered, wordlessly letting him off the hook. She exhaled in resignation. "Focus on the positive, Tom …," she sighed. "Keep yourself safe," she swallowed hard, her hands flanking his face now. "Come back to us …," she breathed, masking her distress with a kiss, slowly pulsing her mouth over his. "I'll go first …," she husked against his open mouth, holding his gaze for a second longer before she slipped out of his arms … and retreated from the sanctuary.

Tom exhaled into the quiet now, his heartbeat strumming into his ears, the soundtrack for the moment – _his back pressed against wall_ – his kids asleep in front of him. The quiet screaming at him now as an unforeseen wave of panic mounted – _a feeling of déjà vu suddenly encapsulating him_ – reminiscent of his departure from Norfolk _after_ Baltimore. His heart twisted with anguish. _How could he leave the kids again? What kind of father does that? What kind of man was he?_ He took a staggering deep breath then and heard Rachel's melodic voice float into the room – _and just like that, she became his beacon_ – wherein he strained to listen to her, coaxing himself away from the ledge of a lifetime of mistakes.

" _I would be remiss if I didn't give each of you a hug right now and tell you to take care of yourselves … and one another … unorthodox, I know … but so is this mission ...,"_ she rambled on.

" _We'll say the same to you,"_ came Jeter's smooth baritone.

" _Look …,"_ came Mike's voice and Tom knew his mouth was pressed into a grim line.

" _If you say … 'three, four days, tops', XO, I might pop you one,"_ she chided, though Tom caught her undercurrent loud and clear.

" _Communication is gonna be intermittent at best,"_ Mike continued now. _"And I know we're all …. cagey about … El Toro … and I get that … but … I promise – this time – we're gonna be in and out,"_ he said firmly.

" _It's the intermittent part that has me on edge … you remember the flares, you know … red and green … and then … nothing …,"_ she sighed.

" _I get it … but this time … we're not going in blind, we're not the opposition … we have something to offer … and that's because of you …,"_ he said resolutely.

" _We'll get there, Dr. Scott,"_ came Jeter's voice, calm and steady.

 _###_

A short while later Tom stood with his father, the elder Chandler so tired he could barely see straight, "Go on and rest, Dad, … _really_ … we'll be all right …," he said then, his eyes moving over the team as they repacked their go bags.

"I know you will be …," Jed smiled. "I have a lot of faith in you … and this team …," he added. "Kids okay?" he redirected smoothly then, his eyes searching.

"I like to think so …," Tom answered cautiously, setting his hand upon his father's shoulder.

"And Rachel …," Jed persisted evenly.

"As strong as ever … though she has a hard time believing that every once in a while …," he answered with reflection.

Jed surveyed the room and Tom watched as he nodded in assent to both Mike and Russ. He smirked, "What was that all about?"

"You …," his father answered plainly. "You … and taking the time you need to reconcile this whole thing in your head … after all, it's your family that's involved …," he sighed. "Let's just say, everyone understands that this is a rather unique mission …," he reasoned, tilting his head.

"Yes … it is …," Tom replied, scrutinizing his father now.

"And so because the finer details are ironed out …," he began. "Perhaps you should take the time while you can," he suggested casually, his eyes moving to the hallway that led to Rachel's room. Tom followed his gaze and the older man cracked a smile. "I love you, Son …," he stated evenly then. "And I'll see you in what? Three … four days … tops," he chuckled.

 _###_

His father retreated to his room and thereafter Tom found himself taking long strides in the hallway leading to Rachel's room. Without another thought, he knocked.

" _Come in,"_ she answered without hesitation.

 _He opened the door slowly, the room, decorated with the same gray and white textiles, was warmer than the rest of the suite, but just as quiet. He spotted Rachel in the far corner of the space, just under the panoramic window – she was bent inside the refrigerator she had requested for her lab samples and supplies – her good arm extended into the middle shelf. She had changed her clothing, having donned an earth-toned cotton sweater and a pair of yoga pants … no shoes now … just perfectly painted toenails … red._

She pulled another couple of water bottles from the fridge and set them on the desk next to at least two dozen others."Bautista must think I'm a camel," she laughed as she turned around and gasped, her mouth her mouth agape. "You haven't left?" she breathed, her eyes filled with wonder.

Tom's heart raced. "Yeah, about that …," he muttered.

 _Closing the door, he swiftly crossed the room to her, wasting no time before he gathered her into his embrace and kissed soundly – delivering what could only have been described as an all-consuming, absolutely, bone-melting kiss – his feral need for her bubbling to the surface now, quite out of control and unlike anything he'd ever felt before._

 _She tasted of toothpaste and that nighttime cream that drove him bonkers and he just couldn't get enough of her. She hummed into his mouth, one hand on the nape of his neck, the other set over his heart. His muscle pounding in response to her healing hand as she added pressure there – and brought forth their magnetic connection – instantly restored now and only matched in its synchronicity by their animalistic need for one another._

With his thoughts wild and untamed, Tom brushed his lips against hers now, pulsing again before slowing his tempo and pulling away. He cupped her face in his capable hands as he stared her, losing himself inside the exhaustive energy of their innate heat. "My head's wrapped around this mission … but …," he breathed, his voice trailing off as he raised her chin with his fingertips – _seeking an eye-to-eye connection_ – realizing now how many inches he had on her with his boots on and her feet bare.

"Yes …," she whispered, raising herself up, she pressed her mouth to his and pulsed gently.

"But I'll admit … my heart ….," he husked, his eyes pinned to hers as he set his hand over her heart and added pressure of his own. "It's here … with you …," he exhaled, so enthralled by her and everything she did to him that nothing else mattered. "And I know … I know that sounds corny," he chuckled, his eyes dancing with hers now. "But I'm … in light of everything … I'm done with checking my emotions …," he confessed.

"You are?" she wondered, her deep eyes searching his.

"I am … and this life we're living – _it did that to me_ – waiting for you to wake up … did that to me …," he smiled. "And … I don't want to stand on ceremony and wait to say how I really feel … because it's the truth …," he sighed, brushing his lips against hers … _his rhythm slow, methodical, fluid_ … until he found her eyes again.

"It is?" she asked, her cheeks flushed.

He hummed, "Yes." He stared at her sparkling eyes, wholly captivated now, "I want to tell you what you _really_ do to me when we're together …," he whispered, tracing the outline of her hairline with his fingertips. "And not because I don't think we'll see one another again … but because I _know_ we will … and these things have to be said …," he vowed and not just for her sake, but for his own.

Rachel's breathing became shallow and she held onto him with tenacity now, her hands pressed to his forearms. "What happens to you …," she whispered, her eyes vacillating, searching for truth.

"You make me forget to breathe some of the time …," he sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"Oh … me too …," she heaved, her chest rose, her eyes as smooth as glass.

"And _…_ we're lucky we found each other – _I believe that now_ – despite everything …," he said, brushing his nose against hers, he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

" _We are … so fortunate …,,"_ she agreed, tipping her head up, she kissed his pulse point again, _kiss, kiss._

 _He drew her into his arms and opened his eyes, swaying with her to beat of their own making – a timeless rhythm that belonged solely to them – a stance that would come to signify their willingness to be honest and open with one another after a lifetime of protecting themselves (and others) from their more somber … or true … or poignant … thoughts._

"And I _really_ want that damn dream of yours …," he murmured into the quiet then, his chin pressed her crown, her ear over his heart, his arms wrapped all the way around her now.

Rachel peered up to him and smiled, "Me too."

Tom stared down at her and smiled. He pressed his lips to her forehead and lingered there for a good long moment. Sighing heavily, he found her eyes again. "I'm mad for you, Rachel …," he breathed into their confessional. "And it's getting me right here … where it matters most, an arrow …," he whispered, setting her hand upon his chest; she inhaled sharply and smiled. "And … I mean that in best way possible …," he admitted, his longing for her multiplying at an exponential rate of its own making now.

Rachel shuddered in his arms and whispered urgently, "Me too … oh, you have no idea." She laughed and steadied herself. "What you do to me – _I have no idea what to do … with what you do to me_ – I've told you, Tom … you're _everywhere_ …," she breathed, setting her palm along the plane of his cheek. "You've become a factor in almost … _everything_ I do now … _everything_ … something I wonder about and yet, I wouldn't change for the world …," she heaved, her reflective eyes filled with tears as she stared at him and they began to travel down her face.

"And so are you to me … _everything_ …," he whispered his truth. "You're here with me now, _intrinsically_ … in a way I never expected, but quite possibly in the way nature may have intended …," he breathed, kissing her salty cheeks before he drew her near and held her close, swaying again in her arms until he heard her voice.

" _I just cannot say 'goodbye' to you …_ ," she whispered, holding onto him for dear life now. _"I cannot say it … 'be safe' … I just can't …,"_ she rambled on.

Tom exhaled and pulled back. "I know …," he said softly and then he smiled radiantly. "How about we say … ' _I'll see you, when I'll see you'_ , instead … because that worked … despite _everything_ … that worked …," he rationalized, his pulse quickening.

"And you will … see me …," she whispered fervently. "You'll see _us_ … on that beach, on the island … in three days … four tops," she husked.

 _And it was on that sentiment that Tom kissed Rachel again, simultaneously lost and found within everything she did to him. And many years later, he would still hold firm to the belief – that this was the singular moment that would come to define them as a couple – for it was within these finite seconds spent alone that everything changed for him and fell into place with the precision of a jigsaw puzzle._

 _For he could so easily pinpoint their moment of genuine alignment – with her bated breath fanning his face – and the wondrous look of surprise lodged within her ochre eyes … and the exact hue of her rosy, flushed cheeks._

 _And there inside that stolen moment, made of high emotions, on the precipice of the lifetime they would come to spend together … she became and would remain … his unequivocal soul mate._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 16**

 _Rachel pushed the small white pill through the foil and held it in between her fingers. She looked at the dial for a moment longer – two empty spots now – and briefly wondered what she was doing … making plans this way? Her stomach flip-flopped. She glanced at herself in the mirror – unpleasant dark circles still there – she tilted her head, wondering exactly how Tom had become so … embedded within her already, as if part of her foundation, her bedrock. All the while she chanted into herself, 'One day and counting … one day down, three at most to go.'_

 _She closed the thin plastic case and set it down next to her toothbrush. Looking up, she lingered on her reflection for a moment – the blue tint of the light accentuating exactly how she felt inside, bone tired and beleaguered by stress, both intensified by jetlag – her mind felt sluggish, her eye sockets fatigued … yet sleep had evaded her. She moved, her shoulder protesting now as she smoothed her flyaway tendrils away from her face and distractedly ran her fingertips along her lips … her mind set on Tom and the way he kissed her so._

 _Exhaling, she turned the offensive fluorescent light off and exited the bathroom. She padded across the shadowy room to the desk, opened yet another bottle of water and took her pill, her eyes sweeping along the panoramic window, the sky outside still dark – the sun that would announce the start of their second day on Subic Bay – not yet visible on the horizon. She closed her eyes – 'please, please, please' – she chanted into herself ... wherein she wondered whose help she was eliciting … surely no more than a nameless, faceless spirit set deep within her mind's eye._

 _She inhaled sharply on that thought in an attempt to cleanse her lungs, the air sticky and heavy with humidity despite the assertion that the substantial rains of the monsoon season had just ended. For spring was upon the locals here, and with spring came the end of the tropical monsoons caused by large scale breezes that formed when the land temperatures were warmer than that of the ocean … the tides were indeed changing._

 _Turning away from the window, she glanced at the clock, it was just after five. She listened for signs of life coming from the main room of the suite and heard nothing and for that she was thankful … to have this moment, alone … sequestered. She sat down on the armchair and thought of the day ahead of them … the morning debrief (with hopefully an overnight update on the mission) and then a junket out to a protected rainforest where Bautista insisted he take them to 'appreciate' this part of the world. She closed her eyes again – dressed and ready to go – she cradled her right elbow in the palm of her left hand and decided to forego the Motrin … for now._

 _###_

A short while later, with the scent of fresh brewed coffee mingling in the air with the humidity – _Rachel sat down at the work table in the corner of the main suite and reviewed the map of the island's terrain again, her eyes pinned to Tom's last known location_ – and though she wasn't sure what she was presently looking for, the very idea of pinpointing the team's whereabouts comforted her in a way she wasn't expecting. She simply felt more in control supposing where Tom and the team might be and how far they may have deviated overnight and into morning as they moved surreptitiously toward the hotel. Her hope was that the debrief – _as it had done yesterday morning_ – would quell her mounting fears.

She set her pencil down and looked around the room _– Colonel Holbrooke and Jed Chandler_ , _engaged in a conversation_ – their voices low and deep, both men, more relaxed and at ease, even now, after just one day of recuperation. Tilting her head, she regarded Holbrooke – _his dark brown hair, damp and parted to the side – his eyes of the same color, alert and wise_ – his more subdued personality much softer around the edges now that she'd spent some time in his company.

The first rays of golden sunlight cascaded into the room just then and abruptly illuminated the invisible dust particulates that had been furtively dancing in the air. Mesmerized, Rachel attempted to follow their whimsical dance, losing herself for a private moment until the balance of the men sauntered into the room. She looked up and smiled as she greeted them, noticing how they checked on her while she did the same of them. Green and Cruz nodded in unison, holding her gaze for a second longer than necessary before they turned their attention to the coffee pot.

Taking a sip of her lukewarm tea, Rachel eyed Ashley and Sam's doorway carefully – _knowing that they would rise soon and with their energy_ – the day would finally commence. She smiled, privately doting on them for a beat, marveling at their resilience and their innocence, reminiscing now that their first day separated from their father had not been too terrible. Her eyes swept over the room again and she smiled politely at Phillip Harley as he sat down next to Holbrooke and joined the conversation.

She sighed and considered the men in this room and everything they had been through, digging deeper now at her own more clandestine emotions – _for as it would turn out, they were all the same, in the same boat (no pun intended)_ – for Holbrooke suddenly was no different than Harley or Jed … or Green and Cruz for that matter. And so her mind swam with memories of the day prior, a triangulation of varying emotions percolating to the surface now.

 _###_

 _At the close of their first day, Rachel sat alongside Dan Holbrooke as the onerous afternoon turned to evening and the sky finally became a shade darker – both a welcoming, yet foreboding change – for night would be upon them soon._

 _The afternoon debrief had confirmed that Vulture Team had indeed been able to make landfall at sunrise via the exposed cavernous craggy as planned. It was also reported that their passage onto the island went off without exception and that they had covered considerable ground by the time they were spotted via GPS coordinates in the latter part of the afternoon. It was unclear from their transmission whether they would make camp at nightfall or try to proceed further with night vision equipment._

 _Keeping her impatience in check, Rachel avoided a glance at the clock and instead focused, attempting to give her full attention to Holbrooke with whom she was conversing. She smiled and nodded her head – listening to him politely as she watched Phillip Harley interact with the children – where he presently sat with them as they poured through his many albums of photographs housed on a backup hard drive he'd carted with him everywhere these days. Satisfied that they were all right, she gave Holbrooke her undivided attention._

" _They're great kids …," he was saying when she caught up with him._

 _Rachel smiled. "They are," she agreed, following his gaze back to the children._

 _She turned and looked him for a beat, deciding now that Dan Holbrooke was a handsome man in a more unassuming way, in a less commanding manner than Tom. He definitely represented the ideal 'airman' in his size and stature (shorter, sinewy, but just as strong) with eyes that seemed to see everything all at once and with more clarity and perhaps even better than twenty-twenty vision._

 _She sighed and privately wondered about him and his personal life as he comfortably twirled his wedding band along his finger in the manner in which Tom used to do. Tiny, unforeseen tears pricked at her eyes then – Tom's loss still very much at the forefront of her mind – she swallowed hard in an attempt to ward off her cotton mouth along with the residual guilt she sometimes felt … for regardless of their commitment, Tom would always be a widower. She cleared her throat and Holbrooke turned back to her._

" _Are you all right, Dr. Scott?" he asked of her then._

 _She smiled and silently wished they would all stop asking her that question, for she could ask the same of them … and then she did. "I am … are you? And please … use Rachel," she answered, tilting her head._

 _He shifted slightly and then smiled an unconvincing, yet disarming grin – one that his years spent in the Air Force had taught him – one that said he was considering his answer as she noticed Tom did from time to time … vacillating somewhere between the politically correct response and the blunt truth. He exhaled and turned back to the children._

" _Some days I am," he finally answered, having decided on the truth. "And … it's Dan," he added._

 _Rachel nodded in assent but hesitated, waiting to see if he had more to say, but he didn't. She watched his eyes become glassy and then regretted her bold intrusiveness. She let him be, shifting, she capped her elbow in her palm and sat back, thankful that the sky had become even darker still. The day on its fast approach to its end. She closed her eyes and listened to Phillip and the children. Their conversation had taken a turn and they were discussing the archetypes of a small village in Africa, a place he had visited many years ago. And therein Harley's tone had changed all together, both softer and more cautious as Ashley asked him if he thought the village people were still there … even now after the virus._

 _And it was here that Rachel once again paused and realized how sick the world was and how damning it all seemed … it was also here that Dan Holbrooke began to speak and she opened her eyes._

" _My wife was pregnant …," he said softly then, his eyes pinned to the window in the far corner of the room. "When this whole mess started … we were living a dream …," he shook his head. Rachel held her breath and remained quiet as Dan sighed and seemed to lose himself in the distant memory and again, she let him be. He turned back to her quickly as if he'd gathered his nerve. "I feel like … you're a worldly person," he declared then, his face ashen._

 _She shook her head – 'no' – but his eyes told her that he didn't believe her. "Some say I see things differently … and not always in a good way," she acquiesced as Niels Sorensen came to mind and her exit wound pricked at her … she suddenly felt lost._

" _The things you've seen … you look at everything so closely…," he went on. "You've seen the unimaginable … and what it does to people, I know that much …," he shook his head._

" _I suppose so," she replied softly. "And … you haven't?" she wondered cautiously._

 _He shook his head. "No … my life's work has been spent, for the most part, high in the sky or in a control room, targeting coordinates …," he breathed. "And though precision was the difference between success and failure … I'll admit … from my perch, I rarely saw the outcome … the destruction of what we left behind …," he sighed heavily._

" _The nature of the beast, I suppose …," Rachel smiled weakly._

" _Yes," Dan agreed, his dark eyes vacant, his mind definitely elsewhere. He sighed heavily and pressed on. "I don't envy you though …," he said then, his voice monotone. "And I can't imagine what you've seen in the way of the human condition … the anguish … the ugliness," he whispered pensively, turning to watch the children again._

 _Rachel followed his gaze and smiled at Harley as he tilted his head in her direction. "It's never been easy to observe …," she exhaled then. "To see how the fear of the unknown incites some people, to know there is a loss of control and to also be powerless against it …," she sighed heavily, pushing aside those memories of time spent alone in her lab on the James in the middle of the night. She shook her head. "It's profound in almost every way imaginable," she inhaled sharply._

 _Dan turned back to her then and though he didn't appear to be any different on the surface, Rachel suddenly saw the man he was – despite the uniform and all the brass – he was just a guy doing his best to keep it all together. He sighed and held his tongue and she watched as his eyes became glassy with unkempt emotion. He tilted his head back, pushing those waiting tears into recession._

" _My wife … she had a miscarriage," he divulged then, blinking quickly. "Perhaps it was stress, which she's done a fair amount of beating herself up over … but the impetus remains unexplained … one of life's mysteries …," he went on._

 _Rachel felt her insides twist. "Dan … I'm so sorry," she whispered, turning toward him._

 _He shook his head. "The thing is … I might not be," he confessed, looking directly to her. "Isn't that horrible?" he wondered, his brow knitted, his handsome face contorted slightly. "I mean … when the virus first became serious – I thought, how can we do this – bring our baby into this world?" he wondered desperately, shaking his head. "And then … she miscarried …," he breathed. "And I wonder now if … somehow that was for the best …," he acknowledged; his gruff voice trailed off._

 _Rachel's heart ached for him and for loss of what might have been, her mind wild with her own commencement of taking birth control_ _ _… in the name of a physical relationship with Tom that had yet to begin_.  
_

 _She pressed on. "I am sure a great many people have found themselves in the same position," she reasoned, tilting her head to find his eyes. "Looking for answers to life's bigger questions when there are none to be found … myself included," she sighed heavily with reflection. "This virus has made its survivors conquer the unthinkable just to beat it …," she appealed to his senses._

 _He sighed. "Yes_ _ _ _… but I can't help but__ wonder, what kind of man that makes me …," he exhaled. "To thieve my wife's happiness …," he rambled on now. "To feel that split-second of relief the way I did …," he exhaled with a resigned sigh._

 _Rachel hesitated, her mind wild with unease, for it would take a lifetime to recover from the damage caused by this virus … the human spirit … by far the most vulnerable, still. She saw that now more and more as she encountered survivors who had not been on the Nathan James … the perspective was changing and it was hard to come to terms with.  
_

 _"I believe, Dan_ _ _…_ it makes you like everyone else … really, I do …," she comforted then, her mind on what Harley said about hope at press conference. _

" _Really?" Dan wondered, though she knew it might take years for him to believe it._

 _She nodded in assent. "Really … and like many survivors, you'll turn now to find those you trust – your wife and what remains of your family – and you'll rebuild …," she smiled. "And maybe one day you'll have that baby – and you'll know everything turned out the way it was meant to – maybe … if you're lucky …," she said fervently and then she chuckled. "Not very scientific, I know … and perhaps a far cry from the proliferation you thought you might get from me …," she smiled._

" _Perhaps …," he chortled._

" _Lately, I've learned that not every outcome is predictable via trial and error…," she sighed, her heart alighted by the 'family' she had now … a family she perhaps only dreamt of before. "I'm more willing to say now that it may just be life … in and of itself, with a determination of its own …," she exhaled._

" _A life that goes on … despite the devastation …," Dan sighed, regarding her now._

" _Yes, I suppose that's what I mean – whether we've experienced the destruction up close, or from thousands of feet in the air – life does seem to go on and all we can seem to do … is our best to overcome our heartaches … both big and small …," she said thoughtfully._

 _###_

The children exited their room then and gently pulled Rachel from her thoughts – _their animated chatter livening up the room as they greeted their grandfather_ – Ashley's eyes brightening slightly when she spotted Rachel, a flurry of energy following her. And there inside those precious moments when both children approached her with happy, rested eyes and began to pepper her with questions about the indigenous birds they might see during their trek later in the day – _all Rachel could suddenly see was their Chandler legacy_ – yes … all she could see was the subtlety of Tom in each child: _the seriousness of Ashley's eyes and the willful child she was sure Tom once was, housed in Sam's._

Her mind wandered and she thought of life and longevity and bloodlines – _both extended and truncated_ – and therein she stole a look at Dan Holbrooke and saw that he was smiling too. And while she knew a layer of acute sadness was masked beneath his smile – _she believed that the acerbic undertone was gone now_ – perhaps tapered by the resilience of the hope for a better tomorrow.

 _###_

A short while later, Rachel stood in the corner of the large, overly air-conditioned common room Bautista utilized for debriefs. As the only woman in the room and the only person without a uniform on, she definitely felt as though she was the exception to the rules of engagement here. Bautista smiled at her, but addressed Lieutenant Green on his final approach.

"Lieutenant, I was not aware the lovely Dr. Scott would be joining us for _every_ debrief …," he said with a disarming smile.

Green and Cruz stepped forward. "There is nothing you need to shield her from," Green assured firmly. "I believe Captain Chandler made that clear," he added.

Rachel held her tongue, wondering now if there had been some squabbling on her behalf. Stepping forward, she appealed to Bautista's senses, "From your point of view, Lieutenant General, I can see how my involvement might be unusual, but I assure you, I am well aware of the dangers that confound all of us."

Bautista's dark eyes softened and he nodded his head in assent. "Forgive me, Dr. Scott, I know you are a fighter for the rights of _all_ people – _the premier mistress of your domain_ – I simply was not prepared for your intimate involvement," he explained politically. "I meant no disrespect … of course," he added smoothly, tilting his head.

"Of course," Rachel answered with her own smile.

 _She looked to Green and Cruz then and stepped further into the room with them wherein Bautista began the debrief, an aerial photograph of the island on the large screen now as he delivered his report – changing the view to a heat map where he spoke of the overnight rain – noting that the island was blanketed by varying degrees of green … most represented with a very dark, forest green, indicating a saturation of water, which thereby masked hotspots of any kind._

 _He went on to report that he believed Vulture Team had interfaced with the hotel manager at first light, but that there had been zero transmissions since. He also reported that some of his men had infiltrated the coastal camps successfully and indicated that although the refugees were large in number, they were not heavily armed._

 _This intelligence suggested that the mission was still moving forward as planned and although Rachel wished they would have heard from Tom directly, she had to assume, for now, that the island and its people were indeed about to be liberated from the inevitable chokehold of misinformation and fear. And that in matter of days, they would be free from the specter of a viral outbreak as outlined by the mission._

 _###_

And so the debrief adjourned with no new intelligence on Vulture Team. Rachel would admit that her heart sank and those dreaded feelings of déjà vu resurfaced and despite her best efforts, she felt the weight of Nicaragua all over again. They said nothing to the children of course, but that did not reduce her anxiety in the least: _for what would she do if something happened to Tom? What if that dream on the beach was never realized? For she had been folded, very neatly, into this 'family' and she felt responsible already._

 _These were the thoughts rummaging around in her mind as the group made the hour-long drive along the north-western slope of the mountains to Bataan Natural Park and Subic Bay Forest Reserve. They moved along the two-lane road at a pleasant clip wherein she could easily see the agricultural land of the biographic zone, noticing Phillip Harley and his keen, narrow eyes – barely able to sit still in his seat – likening his excitement to hers on the precipice of a breakthrough._

 _Sighing into herself, she took in her surroundings: the watershed and foothills of the mountainous terrain on her left and the vast, sparkling South China Sea on her right. Both endless and gorgeous, she was reminded of the view of the ocean from the bridge on the Nathan James … and her heart pinched with longing. Tom … where on earth are you?_

 _###_

Eventually they parked the SUVs near an unmarked trail and trekked under the hooded canopy of the deep forest, the incline only slight, the air heavy with humidity, the temperature only degrees cooler, but comfortable all the same. The sounds of their footsteps echoing as they moved carefully over the path, the ground, soft with years and years of fallen leaves – _the birds, some six-hundred different varieties, calling to one another_ – the hot sun high in the sky in the above them.

 _Her eyes swept the wild trail in front of then, each individual (Bautista's armed sentinels included) – seeming to appreciate the momentary reprieve – this idea of retreating into the past, back to a time when the world was not sick, a time when everything was gorgeous and preserved … and therein she understood why Bautista wanted them to see this place: this element of his homeland. She inhaled sharply and pinned her eyes to the children as they ambled ahead, flanked by Green and Cruz, both armed of course, but equally lost within their own moments of tranquility._

She sighed and focused on her shoulder for a beat, rotating her arm in front of her slightly, releasing the last of the stress that accumulated there – _this weakest place in her body and the first to receive the brunt of her panicked energy_ – in times of high emotion. Hanging back, she slowed her pace and came to walk alongside Jed. She took a sip of her water and focused on her breathing – _measured, in, out, in, out_ – as she listened distractedly to Phillip as he conversed with Bautista.

"This place is truly a beautiful preservation of life …," Phillip complimented then, several robust cameras around his neck, his eyes dancing with excitement … and hope.

"It is …," Bautista said with pride. He smiled. "My wife and I, we love it here," he added thoughtfully – _his taciturn façade more handsome now_ – his own stresses retreating as he somehow became simply Leon Bautista, his stature as a General, only slightly diminished.

"I have seen plenty of photographs of this area … but have never shot it myself," Phillip answered. "And in today's world … it is a rare pleasure indeed … thank you for bringing us here," he added, wherein Rachel easily noted his practiced democracy and his agile confidence as a seasoned reporter.

"The pleasure is mine," Bautista answered and turned slightly to address Rachel and Jed. "I'll have you know," he smiled broadly, his dark eyes sparkling now under the fragmented light of the canopy. "Until the Mount Pinatubo eruption in 1992 … much of this forest was designated under the Subic Military Reservation," he reported. "Which you might know was under U.S. Navy control until 1993 when it was turned back over to the Philippine Government and became Subic Bay National Park …," he sighed with a reflective smile. "The Americans – _your people, our allies_ – took very good care of this land for over fifty years …," he praised with a wistful air.

 _###_

Rachel closed her eyes and listened to the rush of Marukdok Falls – _the most common waterfall to visit in Bataan Natural Park_ – with its steep, statuesque falls and the clarity of the water as it churned in the sizeable basin … it was beyond breathtaking. She inhaled sharply, the heavy, fragrant air filling her lungs as she heard a low whisper of excitement from Ashley. She opened her eyes and watched the children frolic nearby, smiling at Phillip as he snapped their photo – _faces fresh and pink from exertion, eyes bright and joyful_ – they truly were a picture of happiness as they stood on the soft earth, layered with leaves and peat moss, Holbrooke and Jed idling nearby until prompted by Harley to join the children for a photo.

 _She sighed and scanned the horizon, glittering with dew drops and tropical flowers, and array of colorful birds flying overhead – the abundance of undisturbed life – surrounded now by ecosystems that stood the test of time … unfazed by the viral outbreak: a pristine background for the moment._

 _Turning away from the falls, she spotted Green and Cruz chatting with Bautista and a few of his sentinels and it struck her how out of place they seemed with their weapons, uniforms and watchful eyes … and therein she hastened to wonder, would life ever be the same again?_

 _###_

Having eaten a light meal provided by Bautista's camp – _the trek continued and they walked for some time – her skin damp with humidity, her tank top clinging to her torso, small trickles of sweat framed her hairline._

She uncapped her bottle of water and declared simply, "Hydrate."

Jed smiled and handed a canteen to Sam and Ashley, their endless chatter quelled for a moment while they partook.

"Hydrated," Ashley smiled and rolled her eyes. Sam cackled and continued on his way.

Rachel grinned at Jed and he at her and they walked on, following Bautista until they came upon a crest – _the humid air slamming against her face, cool against her damp flesh, as they slowly began to emerge from the depths of the forest_ – the canopy thinner, the din of the covered path suddenly gone and the sun so bright it stung her eyes for a moment until the view stole her breath away.

 _For everywhere, as far as her eyes could see – was a valley of treetops, dancing to a slow tempo in the heavy breeze – the air even more fragrant with subtropical plants and fruit, mingling now with the middle earth, peat-mossy scent that had lodged itself in her nostrils some time ago._

 _She stood on the edge of this plateau of sorts and found Bautista's eyes. He only nodded in assent as if to say he understood her appreciation. His men hung back and she walked forward, standing on the perimeter of the hidden cliff and she felt as though she'd reached the end of the earth … for there, far beyond the valley of trees, was the white coastline of Subic Bay in all of its glory._

 _And there inside those first moments upon the crest, Rachel reflected and forced herself to think of the good in life, the more intricate details of what made her fiercely happy. She made a conscious effort to let go of her prevailing concerns about Tom and the team – and as she did, she became one with the moment and even though she felt as if she might cry, she knew this time it was because of something beautiful and pure and unexpected._

 _And so as she reflected she freed those small pieces of herself, those deep-rooted private pleas of gripping fears and unbridled happiness like …_

… _dream babies and happy endings and …_

… _scientific successes and failures and …_

… _the comfort she sought when she thought of her parents and …_

… _Kara's burgeoning belly and the blessing within and …_

… _Holbrooke's loss and …_

… _Harley's beautiful photographs and …_

… _Tom … Tom and dreams yet fulfilled._

 _Her mind, wild now as she thought of the yin and yang of it all – the black and white of life – the death do us part … part of things. And so lost was she in a sea of her own emotions that she scarcely realized that she began to hurl those tiny fragments of herself into the haphazard wind along with one persistent prayer for Tom: her plea for a sign … a flare … a flicker of chatter on the line … anything that would assure her of his well-being._

 _Anything. Her heart twisted and her eyes pricked with tears. Anything. She'd take … anything at all. And then … just when she thought to back away from the edge – just when she thought she could pray no more – Sam slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. Her waiting tears fell and just like that she was back in the moment._

"Rachel?" he asked looking up; he squinted at her.

"Yes …," she breathed, appreciating the innocence of his round, happy face.

"Do you miss my Dad?" he wondered, his clammy hand still nestled in hers.

"I sure do …," she smiled and knelt down to him. "Do you?" she prompted, eye-to-eye with the boy now, so close she could see those sparkling flecks of silver hidden within his gateways, just like his father's.

"Yeah," he smiled.

"Do you like it up here?" she wondered, the humid breeze barreling over them now.

"Yeah, it's neat," he smiled and his eyes darted up to Harley who smiled in return. "Dad taught us something … about what to do if we miss him …," he said softly then.

She smiled and her heart raced. "And what was that?" she encouraged.

"He said that at night … if the moon is out, we should remember … that he's looking at the same moon, because the earth only has one moon …," he nodded, pressing his lips together. "You should try it tonight," he suggested. "It _really_ works … I promise," he added seriously.

Rachel drew Sam near and for the first time, she felt him acquiesce – _readily leaning into her_ – and there inside those finite seconds, she fell for the boy, just like his father before him … _rather unexpectedly_.

 _###_

 _With no news from Vulture Team by nightfall, Rachel retreated to her bedroom to take a shower, all hope for sleep vanishing as she paced the room akin to a caged animal now – the sky already dark – the jungle at night, even darker still. Black. Foreboding. Endless._

 _Stopping along her circuit, she brushed her damp hair the best she could, draping her locks over her left shoulder and maneuvering the brush with her injured arm, which protested with her every move. She scrutinized herself as she worked, seeing now that she looked as terrible as she felt._

 _And therein the quiet began to scream at her in earnest … the radio silence infringing upon her every thought as she abruptly turned away from the mirror, flipped the light off and exited the suffocating_ _refuge_ _._

The main suite was quiet save for Jed, situated on a small sofa in the corner, his weathered eyes softening when he spotted her. He didn't say anything and he didn't judge her either, he simply moved the stack of files to the side and glanced at the empty seat. Rachel padded across the room and sat down beside him. She remained quiet for a long while – _listening with a strained ear to Ashley and Sam_ – their energetic whispers slipping beyond the crack of their door. She sighed and wondered what it might have been like to have a sibling, a constant companion … and built-in friend. She thought of her parents, her mother in particular, and her heart pinched somewhere special.

Jed looked up from his book and eyed their doorway carefully. He smirked. "They should bottle that stuff," he mused thoughtfully.

Rachel sighed. "They should," she agreed, holding his gaze. "Do you think they had true fun today … or were just distracted?" she asked of him then.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he answered candidly. "But I know they enjoyed themselves," he assured. "I would definitely have known if they were just going through the motions," he elaborated evenly.

 _Rachel nodded in assent, for she too might have been able to tell if they were merely placated, except that she was also well aware of her own intuitive shortcomings when it came to reading children … and therein, it didn't hurt to have a sounding board like Jed Chandler._

She exhaled with resignation and he turned to her. "You're troubled," he supposed without judgment.

She shook her head in an attempt to formulate her words, rather frustrated by her feelings of inadequacy. "I'm …," she began, she wrung her hands together. "I don't want to rush them …," she sighed heavily. "Into trusting me … and yet, truth be told, I may not be ready for everything that comes with raising children …," she breathed, releasing yet another coveted fear.

Jed exhaled and pressed his lips into a thin, contemplative line. "The thing about raising children is … you don't often do it alone … not even single parents, fully single-parent all of the time …," he advised gently.

Rachel smiled tightly. "So, the whole it _'takes a village'_ phenomenon is real then?" she wondered with a chuckle, her heart thumping into her ears now.

"Something like that …," he answered with a reflective smile.

Rachel eased into the sofa cushion and eyed the doorway, the soft light coming from within a gateway of sorts. She sighed into the relative silence and admitted, "I'm scared."

Jed turned to her, "We all are."

Unruly tears formed in her eyes and she did nothing to impede them. "I don't want to mess this up for them," she exhaled in an attempt to regulate her breathing.

"None of us do …," he chuckled. "But one thing I've learned is … that there's no right answer with parenting …," he smiled. "It's a science," he smirked. "All trial and error," he mused with a chortle.

Rachel shook her head and smiled at his antics. "A scientific breakthrough … thank you … for that," she whispered. "You know me pretty well," she nodded with appreciation.

He chuckled again. "Well … the learning curve has been steep," he smirked and rolled his eyes playfully. "But … Rachel, you can do this … evolve … make a life with them … with Tom …," he nodded slowly.

Tears flooded her eyes, "With Tom."

He nodded slowly. "He's all right," he declared then, his eyes clear and unwavering. "I believe they're all right … Russ and Mike and Tom … they're a force to be reckoned with …," he impressed upon her senses now.

Rachel exhaled, emptying her lungs. She shook her head and confided, "I have this crazy idea of him … sometimes …," she said, holding her breath. "And there's no science about it – _no rhyme or reason_ – but I think, as misguided as it is …...," she rambled on. "He has … an imperviousness … about him …," she breathed, searching the old man's eyes for answers.

Jed sighed in tandem with her. "Yes … I would tend to agree, he's quite a strategist … he's something else, that's for sure …," was all he said, his admiration for his boy, evident.

 _The room fell quiet again as the pair reflected on Tom and his tactical prowess. Rachel sighed and closed her eyes for a beat – her exit wound radiating slightly – the pain, a dull throb. The door cracked and her eyes popped open to find Ashley framed within._

"Rachel … can you tuck us in?" she asked from her same spot, her tired eyes moving between the adults.

Rachel smiled and stood. "I'm afraid I don't know any bedtime stories," she warned, stealing a glance at Jed.

He nodded in assent. The young girl shifted on her feet and Rachel approached. "That's okay, we're kinda too old for that anyway …," she giggled, pursing her lips.

Rachel tilted her head and followed her into the bedroom, the light soft and soothing. "Oh … well we could play a game instead," she offered, smiling at Sam, situated in his bed already.

"What kind of game?" he wondered, pushing himself up slightly, though his fatigue was evident.

Ashley slipped into her bed and Rachel pulled the desk chair forward. "Well … I'll sit here and you guys get comfortable …," she smiled. Ashley yawned and rolled to her side. "And Sam … you'll say whatever word comes to mind …," she instructed softly. "And then Ashley will use the last letter of that word and say whatever word comes to _her_ mind … and then it will be my turn and then yours again …," she breathed, sitting back slightly.

Ashley reached up and turned the light off – _the room went black for only moment before her eyes adjusted_ – and the darker shadows disappeared.

"Phineas," Sam declared then. Ashley snickered.

Rachel chuckled. "That's quite a name," she replied, inclining her head in his direction.

"It's from _'Phineas and Ferb'_ ," Ashley interjected, raising herself up on one elbow.

"I have no idea what that is," Rachel deadpanned.

Sam cackled and then exclaimed, "It's only the best animated TV show ever!"

"You'll see," Ashley smirked and she lay back down.

"All right … so …," Rachel prompted, resting her back against the chair.

"S …," Ashley sighed. "Sleepy …," she said softly.

Rachel smiled. "Y … yellow …," she whispered.

"W … wish …," Sam sighed.

"H … honest …," Ashley said softly.

"T … thankful …," Rachel exhaled quietly.

"L … lift off …," Sam suggested.

"That's two words," Ashley corrected.

"I know, I'm tired already," he replied, releasing a long yawn.

Rachel sighed and rose from her chair. The energy inside the sanctuary, both peaceful and subdued now. She sat down on the edge of Sam's bed and watched his heavy eyes dip shut. "Did you like that?" she asked of him.

"I did," he answered.

"Me too …," she agreed and doted on him for a beat. She smoothed his hair away from his face and smiled. "Rest now," she soothed.

Rising, she turned to Ashley and tilted her head as she came to sit at her bedside. "Can you sleep now?" she wondered.

"Yes …," the girl answered with a sweet smile. "Do you think we will hear something tomorrow?" she whispered, glancing in Sam's direction.

Rachel's heart raced. "I hope so, brave girl," she replied with a small smile.

"Me too," was all she said before her eyes closed on their own accord.

 _And just like that Rachel was alone again._ _Her mind instantly wild with machinating thoughts on radio silence and the powers of imperviousness and the newfound 'science' of parenthood. Meandering thoughts of Tom and Russ and Mike and Miller and Burk were there too, tucked within her mind's eye – miles away and likely secluded, ensnarled within the wet, unforgiving nighttime jungle – alone and perhaps slightly_ _ _…_ afraid. _

_Afraid._

 _Lingering on that word, she rose from her perch on Ashley's bed and gathered a blanket, draping along her shoulders, all the while listening to the children breathing as she crossed the room and came to stand before the large window, pushing the curtain aside. Exhaling, she closed her eyes for a beat and found their rhythmic sound again and soon became soothed by their unencumbered slumber._

' _I need him,' she acknowledged unto herself now, a semblance of the same prayer she whispered long ago when he disappeared into the Nicaraguan jungle and she waited for him to emerge_ _… waited and waited to save the only chance they had at a vaccine._

 _'I long for him,' she confessed quietly, changing her prayer to fit how she really felt, her elemental desire for him pricking at her heart now. 'Please, please, please,' she whispered her mantra again._

 _Her tenacious prayers for her lover's safe return mimicking those for her mother's recovery more than a lifetime ago – her tenacious calls for help – 'please, please, please,' encapsulating her mind, body and spirit now as she stood alone in the darkness … her feet akin to cinder blocks, for this much was true: she could not walk out that door and leave his children_ _ _…_ alone. _

_Alone._

 _She simply could not. So instead, she thought of Tom, the love of her lifetime and in an effort to ensconce herself within the safe confines of their connective energy, she opened her eyes and did as he suggested – she fixed her gateways to the large crescent-shaped moon – her heart drawn to his now by the idea of his all-seeing eyes pinned to that very same tidal force._

 _And therein Tom's prophesy came to fruition, for Rachel found herself somewhat comforted by the fact that perhaps by the time they would see one another again, they would indeed watch the full moon rise … together._

 _Together._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 17**

 _Lieutenant Green handed a three-pound weight to Rachel – she grimaced and held her arm out – he nodded in assent and set his palm directly under her fist so she could allow the burden to fall on him if need be. She inched forward on her chair and raised the weight toward her chest. The entirety of her upper body – including her core and hip flexors strained with effort – not quite screaming with protest, but distressed enough that she knew, even ten repetitions would leave her with considerable soreness._

 _She exhaled through the pain that shot up her arm to her shoulder, both entry and exit wounds howling at her now as she flexed her muscles and raised the weight again … her mind wild with distracting ruminations over what they had learned from an unexpected debrief at dawn._

 _A cluster of angry civilians had gathered outside the compound gates overnight …_

 _They had become aware that the infamous Dr. Rachel Scott was on local soil …_

 _And they were growing desperate …_

 _A fact she could not refute … for so was she._

 _For there had been no signal from Vulture Team for close to forty-eight hours now and as the clocked ticked on and on and on … Rachel naturally feared the worst: that she had indeed lost Tom to the wilderness of the treacherous new world order. And that she would never see him emerge from the depths of the jungle … unharmed and on that pristine white beach … and neither would his children._

 _And for that, she found herself lost._

 _Her resolve weakening by the minute as she rehashed what they had learned from Bautista's men positioned at water's edge: that Vulture Team – fully armed and with diplomatic placards in hand – had proceeded to go from camp to camp to enforce order and prepare the locals for the arrival of the contagious cure. And that all was moving as planned until an unexpected monsoon pummeled the islands, its duration, longer than expected – wherein the land became saturated and virtually impassable along with limited visibility both on the ground and from heat map satellite imagery. It was believed (and even hoped) that the team had ducked into safety, having been forced to retreat to a higher elevation, further inside the interior of the island, perhaps even beyond the boundaries of the hotel property._

" _Too bad Miller's not here,"_ Green smirked at her, a feeble attempt to cajole her from her circular thoughts.

He smiled and took the weight from her. She tried to appreciate his humor, but could only exhale with relief at her forfeiture of the weight. Her wrist ached and her brow was damp. She wiped her good arm across her forehead. Danny handed an open bottle of water to her. He glanced sideways at Harley, seated nearby, his eyes fixed on his laptop. She sighed and took stock of the balance of the team: Holbrooke in the next room with Cruz, Jed reading in his quarters, the children watching a DVD in theirs.

"All I've been thinking of now is the Arctic," she whispered then, staring at Danny. He shook his head. "What I put you through … the crew ... the silence, the fabrication …," she exhaled, her heart twisting madly.

"Don't," he said simply, shaking his head, his light blue eyes unwavering.

"And why the hell not?" she demanded, a new layer of goose flesh covered her arms, but she stared at him still, unwilling and unable to move.

"Because … it doesn't change anything," he answered frankly, his handsome, young face almost beseeching her now.

"I'm haunted, _tormented_ even … by this myopic _idea_ of radio silence I treasured once not too long ago …," she swallowed hard. "And now look at me, it's like Nicaragua all over again … every minute feels like an eternity …," she confessed.

"You orchestrated that mission because you had to …," he answered. "You did what you had to do, we all did …," he appealed to her diplomatically; tilting his head, he searched her eyes.

"Why is everyone like that?" she wondered, suddenly so close to seeing red she thought her blood would boil – _'Tom, where the hell are you?'_ – she wanted to scream!

"Like what?" Danny pressed on.

"So damned diplomatic," she answered derisively. Harley looked up from his laptop. "Diplomacy … it doesn't get anything done!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling. "It certainly didn't pull the strings I needed to commandeer the Nathan James in enough time to stop thing!" she whispered harshly – _her heart and soul tilting toward darkness now_ – for regret was a slippery slope and she was losing her footing.

"You're being unfair to yourself," Danny replied evenly without judgment.

"It didn't save _your_ family!" she bleated, her chest on fire. "Or their mother!" she shrieked, glancing at the children's doorway. "And what did it do for _me_?" she demanded. "What am I now aside from a pawn in a game of misguided hero-worship?" she shrilled, her voice cracking into the silence.

 _The steady lieutenant diverted his eyes and her stomach churned, bile rising now as she longed for Tom in such a way that she almost mourned him already. Her soul trembled akin to a leaf on a vine as she rose from her chair and swiftly crossed the room to the windows – the unruly crowd much larger now, perhaps a thousand people strong – she exhaled and attempted to push her morose feelings down and into a safe place for retrieval later._

 _Danny came to stand beside her and everything was quiet, save for the apparent disgruntled chant coming from the crowd far below them and her heart, and the way it thumped into her eardrums, creating a void … a vacuum, one that she felt she could live inside of for a good long while._

"We can't go down that road," Danny said then, his eyes unwavering as he seamlessly circumvented her fears. "Not now, not after everything," he shook his head. "And I can't allow you to beat yourself up like this …," he sighed with determination.

"No? And why's that?" she wondered incredulously, her heart rate accelerated now. "Am I not the chief martyr for this cause? Are we not here because of this idea of mine?" she prattled off, her eyes trained on the palm trees as they swayed sluggishly in the wind, their fronds heavy with water.

"Because Captain wouldn't tolerate it … and I think you know that," he stood his ground.

She scoffed and shook her head, her shoulder protesting as she did. "Do you believe _everything_ your Captain wants you to believe?" she questioned, searching his eyes for answers.

Cruz and Holbrooke entered the room just then and eyed the other players carefully. Danny turned and nodded in assent. "Yes … we do …," he answered with a wry grin. "But I also believe he knows you better than anyone else," he smiled weakly.

 _Harley appeared at her opposite side then. Ever mindful of his place in the group, he didn't say anything, except to simply hand a tissue to her, his eyes also pinned to the crowd in the distance._

"And what would he say to me now, if he were here?" she asked of Danny … and perhaps more importantly, what would _she_ say to him: _'I'm in love with you, I miss you, I can't do this without you.'_

Harley tilted his head and regarded her. "I think he'd wonder what you were going to do to help those people down there …," was all he said.

 _###_

 _Harley's words replayed in her mind now as she stood in the rear of the conference room with him at her side and listened to Bautista's advisors while they spoke with Green, Cruz and Holbrooke. She glanced at him and he at her – she tilted her head and scrutinized him for a beat – the camera around his neck, so much a part of him … she saw this now as he documented their journey, always thoughtful, always in the mix of things and yet … a quiet observer._

" _They're demanding the cure,"_ Bautista was saying now. "And soon – _very, very soon_ – we'll be powerless against the number of people at the gates …," he went on, his words slow and deliberate.

"Understood," Green answered. "Perhaps it's time to relocate Dr. Scott and the family to the island ahead of schedule," he suggested evenly.

"There is unrest _everywhere_ , lieutenant," Bautista cautioned smoothly. "These people _– my people_ – they are very desperate to save their families … I am sure you can imagine …," he sighed heavily.

"We can … but this mission must come first, for all of mankind," he answered with an uncanny resemblance to Tom, his Captain.

"Yes," Bautista answered. "But _their_ first concern is their health, understandably … and even their countrymen on the Palawan Islands seem distant to them now …," he sighed heavily. "So distant that if we explain why Dr. Scott is here … and why the islands must be liberated and cured first … I fear …," he exhaled. "I fear they will not understand or embrace the complexities of this mission …," he concluded. "You see … fear is winning, my friend," he exhaled.

 _The room went quiet then, but Rachel's train of thought was unruly with combative ruminations on life's complexities: of timing and of hope and of fate and of destinies combined._

 _Harley's words still percolating now – what_ ** _could_** _she do – how could she help these people and still execute the mission as planned? For without hearing from Tom – the timing of the mission was precarious – there was simply no way she could extend the life of the contagious cure … and with no word from him … her love, her lifeline … it was a gamble to start 'Day One' too soon._

 _The entire success of the mission was predicated by the finite number of people she had to booster … just three, only three in the_ ** _entire_** _world! And with that small number, the life of the contagious cure would be just strong enough to live and breathe on the shores of 'Flora Island' and make a substantial impact there …_ ** _unless_** _… unless there were more people infected with the contagion … hundreds more!_

 _And it was here that adrenaline filled her veins and she charged to the front of the room without thinking, her eyes fixed on Bautista's as the whole room turned their attention to her – the only woman, the only scientist – a lone wolf armed with a plan that pushed its way to her surface and out of her mouth without another singular thought._

"We can spread it!" she said fervently to Bautista. "For these people here," she determined. " _And_ on the island," she concluded. With all eyes pinned to her now – _Harley having moved forward, camera in hand already_ – she continued, nodding in assent to him. "You see … the parameters of the contagious cure cannot be altered – _this much is true_ – but _how_ we treat those people infected with the cure … can be …," she smiled. She turned to Bautista again. "Do you have an auditorium here?" she asked of him then.

"Why yes, we do," he answered, his brow furrowed.

"Well then … we have ourselves a quarantine," she smiled broadly, feeling more like herself than she had in days.

 _###_

 _A short while later, Rachel worked in a well-lit anteroom likely used by speakers before they took to the stage of the auditorium. As it turned out, the auditorium was ideal in size (not too big) for what she hoped to accomplish – a tightly controlled, phased quarantine – by which the initial civilians to contract the contagious cure (a small primary number) would in turn cure the overflow of civilians that would wait inside the banquet hall located in the same building. The banquet hall, much larger in size – would soon be outfitted with any and all military cots on hand – along with enough provisions to make those quarantined as comfortable as possible._

 _The phased quarantine would ideally work in such a way that very sick single people (with no other survivors, including the elderly) and adult, heads of a household (including one child from that household), would enter the auditorium and be introduced to Jed, Ashley and Sam. When the auditorium was filled with about one-hundred civilians – and ample time was given for the cure to begin to spread – those subjects would then move into the larger banquet hall where they would eventually be reunited with their families and remain quarantined overnight._

 _The overnight quarantine would in turn buy the Subic Team the time they needed, with a larger hope pinned to the idea that by morning there would be news from Vulture Team. Furthermore, Rachel was able to secure Bautista's backing in procuring fifty civilian volunteers to make the sojourn (via a larger number of amphibious planes) to the Palawan Islands to assist in the spread of the contagious cure there._

She smiled tightly now as she further solidified her plan, making the final preparations to the boosters from her seat at a desk in the corner – _her movements adroit, fluid and made by rote_ – though she could feel Ashley and Sam's eyes watching her every move. She inhaled sharply – _the air humid, sticky_ – her shoulder radiating uncomfortably now, a mere fallout of stress. Pushing her own misgivings aside, she finished her measurements and thought it high time she the kids' worries to rest.

Turning about, she made cursory eye contact with Jed and then Danny wherein they nodded in unison. "I'm about ready to begin," she announced with a smile to the children. "Lieutenant Green, would you kindly inform Bautista that we'll be ready to enter the auditorium within the hour?" she asked of him. "And remind him, the sickest civilians will go first," she exhaled.

"Will do," he nodded and paired off with Cruz on that mission.

Phillip Harley stood with Colonel Holbrooke in the opposite corner of the room. She smiled at the gentlemen and they returned the sentiment, moving to sit on a nearby sofa, they nodded with encouragement to Sam who'd begun to follow their every move.

Jed came forward and sat with the children now. "I'll go first," he announced with a wink before he smiled at them, his weathered eyes vacillating.

"That is a fine idea," Rachel answered, still aware she was falling short when it came to the children. She leaned forward and spoke directly to them now. "I know … that you know … our plan was to wait to hear from your father before I would give you these boosters …," she sighed. "But we have to help these people here … _while_ we wait, there are just too many people and they know we're here now … and that we have something that could help them … and they are desperate …," she sighed heavily.

"We understand," Ashley smiled weakly, glancing at her grandfather.

"But that is our _only_ change to this mission … I promise you that …," Rachel smiled in return. "We will _still_ get to your father and we will see him again …," she whispered fervently, teetering on a high wire akin to a seasoned tightrope walker – _not willing to admit to her own fears_ – and yet doing her best to allay Ashley and Sam's. "For now, we have to have hope … and keep our spirits up for the people we will encounter here, for some will be very sick …," she explained.

 _###_

 _A couple of hours later, the third set of one hundred civilians, many sick with visible signs of the virus, entered the quarantine. Rachel took a sip of her water and swallowed her Motrin, the cool elixir traveling down her throat as she stood inconspicuously at the corner of the stage now. This was after having been escorted around the space as she wished with first two groups, Harley following close behind as sick and desperate people praised and touched and hailed their thanks to her akin to a saint. At the very least, she was overwhelmed by their gratitude._

 _A resonant sense of déjà vu encapsulated her then – her memories of leaving the hospital that night with Tom, all too real – her present feelings, reminiscent now … the memory made even more profound by his absence._

 _And so now she stood here alone and out of the limelight, where she preferred to remain – watching the room carefully, her eyes chiefly keen on the children where she surveyed their health and well-being, including their stamina. The family moving along their circuit at a decent pace – mingling throughout the humid room – Green and Cruz at their sides, Holbrooke not far behind. Bautista's men everywhere, security was airtight._

 _The video Michener took played in a loop on the large presenter's screen … and therein the girl she encountered during the Nathan James' dogfight with the Ramsey's was now healed over and over again before her eyes. An audio recording of one of Bautista's men explained the process to the masses – his baritone, echoed throughout the space – the native Filipino language, both comforting and beautiful._

 _The energy inside the space was peaceful as well – and much like the courtyard in St. Louis that day – it was everything Rachel ever wanted this moment to be. For there had to be hope to cling to, Harley was right. And this idea of hope, of feeling useful – somehow mitigated her fears regarding the radio silence – which still crackled like a forgotten record, deep within in her mind's eye._

 _She sighed and curtailed her darker thoughts and instead watched one woman in particular – Patient No. 329 – a small toddler in her arms, both wary from their journey. She was a gorgeous woman, despite the markings of the virus and the vacancy set deep within her dark, watery eyes. Tracking her, Rachel watched Ashley hug her and offer her a bottle of water. The trio spent several minutes together – Ashley's eyes sparkling, the baby's head on her mother's shoulder, shy at first, until she relaxed and smiled too. And in that moment, Rachel felt immense pride in Ashley – and how she must remember to tell Tom as much – for she was a natural in her willingness to help a friend in need._

 _Exhaling, she collected herself now – her own tears gathering as she blinked and set them free without reservation – for she had nothing to hide. She sighed and focused, urging the Motrin to dull her lingering pain. Overcome, she looked away only to encounter Harley, who'd been standing nearby documenting the process._

He tilted his head and regarded her. "You're an incredible woman," was all he said.

She wiped her tears away and smiled weakly. "I hope you've gotten some good photographs of the children inside this room for your article … for Tom … miracle workers, they are …," she said, her lips pursed together, her heart trembled.

"I have … along with some candid shots of you …," he smiled. "And the rest of the team of course," he elaborated. "I like that for a title, though … _'The Miracle Workers'_ …," he pondered.

 _Rachel nodded in assent and blinked hastily, her parents coming to mind … missionaries … in search of life's secrets … of miracles. She pushed them aside for now and then everything was quiet for a long few minutes, both she and Phillip reflecting … observing … and most of all … hoping. Hoping that this revised plan of hers would indeed buy them the time they needed … and the time Vulture Team must require as well._

"I'm planning to document this group as they reunite with their families in the banquet hall, would you care to join me?" asked Phillip of her then.

"I would like that, very much," she answered. "In fact … do you see this woman here, with Ashley?" she pointed. "I've made some mental notes on her health and will be following her progression as she becomes inoculated by the contagion and then again as it spreads to her family in the banquet hall," she explained. "Feel free to join me in that endeavor," she smiled.

"I think I will," he answered, his serious eyes suddenly reflective. "It is all so fascinating," he surmised then. "From watching Michener's video and being in the courtyard that day myself – _I thought I understood everything there was no know_ – but somehow my perspective has been tipped on its side and only today am I seeing the miracle of this thing you created …," he sighed heavily. "You're really something else," he complimented.

 _Rachel said nothing at first and shook her head in protest, her watery eyes moved along the room again and she watched the woman and Sam as he smiled at the toddler until she smiled back at him … mere mirrors._

"With this plan in place, the contagious cure will be stronger by the time we land on those islands … strong and perfect … and unbeatable," she exhaled with satisfaction and then turned to Phillip. "Thank you, by the way …," she smiled. "For pushing me … earlier today – _I should say that now_ – for much like Bautista said, my fears were winning …," she admitted. "And I needed this – _to feel useful, purposeful_ – perhaps just as much as these people needed the cure …," she smiled, her eyes still glassy with emotion, but her heart resting more soundly now.

 _###_

 _A good hour went by – the quarantine was working well and as planned – and Rachel, with some resistance from Lieutenant Green, had arranged for two of Bautista's political agents (armed guards) to accompany her and Phillip into the banquet hall. To say she was astounded by what she saw may have been an understatement. It reminded her of a healthier version of what they encountered on the Italian cruise ship – a quarantine absolutely – but one where people were recovering instead of dying. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of Niels Sorensen and therein, she once again found her answer: No, she did not regret what had ultimately become of him. Was she validated? Yes, she was._

 _And with that realization, tears stung her eyes and she found she couldn't move from her spot, one of Bautista's men, ever silent, at her side and the other, escorting Phillip as he discreetly moved along the outer perimeter of the hall._

 _She inhaled sharply – the tropical essences of the island, gone for now – replaced by the faint odor of sickness. The florescent lights were on, but in a staggered way that offered some privacy and perhaps a sense of calm. There were clusters of families, each assigned two cots and pallets upon pallets of bottled water and other provisions lined the far corner – obviously stock-piled for a reason – though none as judicious as this. In the opposite corner, a large screen was down and endless stream of "Tom and Jerry" vignettes played to the amusement of many, both children and adults, enjoying the momentary reprieve from months and months of overriding concerns._

 _Rachel spotted her primary subject with ease – Patient No. 329 and her daughter – watching her carefully as she sat on a cot, the toddler on her lap. She was overwhelmed and fatigued for certain, but she could already tell she was more alert, her eyes scanning the room as the recorded message from Bautista's camp explained that their families would enter the space within minutes._

Holbrooke entered the hall then and came to stand beside Rachel. "Everything all right in the auditorium?" she queried, searching his brown eyes, both familiar and softer now.

"Yes, I thought I would come and see how the other half live …," he smiled genuinely.

She chuckled. "Well … like _this_ , I suppose, for the next twenty-four hours at least," she answered, her eyes moving along the sea of cots once more.

"Not so bad … after everything else," Dan sighed, his keen eyes moving along the room now too.

"No … to have endured thus far, I am quite sure this quarantine feels more like a sanctuary than anything else," she sighed heavily, the plight of the lone survivor everywhere she turned now … and then she thought of the Nathan James in all of her glory and how she serviced them so well.

"I believe it …," Dan replied. "What a journey … for all of us … for all of mankind," he added with reflection.

"Yes …," she sighed and smiled weakly.

 _She trained her eyes on Patient No. 329 once more, watching the woman's every move, her attention now drawn to the overhead screen – where Tom the Cat had just absconded with Jerry the Mouse's diary and was now laughing profusely at its contents – wherein Rachel watched a small smile play along the patient's careworn face. Tilting her head, she tried to glean a better idea of the child's health, but she thought it better to wait until the balance of the family arrived to take a closer look._

 _And so instead her mind wandered to Tom – only a two-hour flight away – yet somehow, he resided in another space and time entirely. Her heart fell and she was once again reminded of how precarious the balance of life really was – and would remain – until she knew more from him. She thought of Jeter and Slattery and Miller too and once again found herself saying that small mantra of a prayer, 'please, please, please.'_

" _We'll hear from Vulture Team soon … Captain Chandler, he's all right …,"_ Holbrooke intuited, his smooth voice pulling her back from the darkness that confounded her.

"That is my every hope," she answered, her voice barely audible over the din that flowed through the space. She sighed with resignation.

Phillip circled back around to them then, a smile on his face. "There are thousands of stories in this room already…," he exhaled wistfully, a spark of intrigue set within his dark eyes.

Rachel smiled at him. "I can only imagine," she sighed, holding his gaze for a beat. "Later, I will need to direct Bautista's team in identifying fifty volunteers to accompany us to the islands," she thought aloud.

"And what will determine the candidacy for volunteering?" Dan asked.

Rachel scanned the room as she spoke, "Ideally, we want single survivors that had some visible symptoms of the virus when they entered the auditorium." She turned to face the men. "Our volunteers are not in this room yet … I'm merely thinking ahead, keeping myself occupied," she smiled.

Turning back to the scene before her, she watched now as the large doors at the opposite end of the hall opened and the families of the new arrivals were ushered inside. A jolt of adrenaline accelerated her heart rate, the scene unfolding before her, made of destinies and fates combined. More miracles.

She glanced at Harley before she followed her patient's gaze, and in doing so, her own anticipation for their reunion mounted until she was almost holding her breath. And then her patient found whom she was looking for – _a man, taller than she, another small child on his hip_ – where they rushed forward and held onto one another for all that was dear in life.

 _And there inside that moment, the scientist in Rachel was seized by the woman she had become – for rather than looking upon the family's caresses and kisses and tears of rejoice as clinical steps in spreading the contagion – she found that all she could focus on was the way the family clung together desperately and the whimsical energy of their love and adoration for one another._

 _And even further inside of herself, Rachel could not help but wonder what it would feel like when they finally saw Tom again. For her high emotions had far surpassed anything she'd experienced before – and she had indeed reached a new stratum – a place deep within herself … this place where her true hopes and dreams resided._

Fat tears welled in her eyes and she blinked hastily before she turned back to Phillip and Dan. The men smiled at her, nodding in unison before Phillip took one last photo of the patient and her family.

Pulling back from lens, he turned back to her, his dark brown eyes shining bright as if he had a secret. "You know … this is proof …," he declared.

Rachel smiled with intrigue, "Proof?"

He smiled in return. "Yes … proof there's still good to be found on earth," he proclaimed.

 _###_

 _Much later, when sleep never came and the moon was high in the sky and children finally fell into a deep, exhaustive sleep, Rachel found herself alone in their quarters, just watching them. She supported her right arm on a pillow and shut her eyes in an effort to allow the dull ache of her wounds to ebb. For although the infinite hours of night were upon her, she could not rest her weary mind, body and spirit._

Perhaps she was still high on the adrenaline from the day, for it was an overwhelming success as more than one thousand people were now quarantined and hopefully recovering and resting as comfortably as possible. She thought of her patient and her family – _what a lovely quartet they were_ – surely whole and healed by now, her patient's tell tale signs of the virus, gone by the time Rachel bade them a farewell … and by and by how she would never forget them. She blinked her tears away.

Standing, she exited the confines of the room and moved to sit in the darkness at her desk in the main suite. She raised her laptop screen and turned the device on with intention of reviewing the maps of the islands again. For her desire to ascertain where Vulture Team might have been able to evade the rains was one she could not quell. Her mind was simply too wild to rest – _'no matter', she counseled herself_ – for quiet time of honest reflection was truly her heart's desire at the moment.

 _For all she thought of was how she would do things differently upon Tom's return, how she would embrace the life they could have together, how she would parent his children (to the best of her capabilities), how she would be more agreeable, how she would stop and enjoy life's simple pleasures … both together and apart from him. For she had spent her lifetime fighting – and should he return – she vowed to herself now that she would stop and look him in the eyes and know the blessing of his presence in her life. No matter how it happened, no matter how tragic their circumstances were … they were theirs to build upon._

 _She loved him madly, she knew this now as she felt his absence – she knew now with certainty – that he was ingrained her mind … down to the smallest fiber of her being and to the core of everything she was made from. She loved him._

 _###_

A short while later, she looked up from the glow of the laptop screen and found Phillip's silhouette in the doorway. "Working?" he asked of her, his voice gruff with sleep.

She smiled, taking in his tousled hair and tired eyes. "I hope I didn't wake you," she said to him, lowering the screen to reduce the ambient light.

"No, just needed a bottle of water," he answered.

He smiled and entered the kitchen and she followed his movements – _the light from the refrigerator, bright, then gone_ – the room dark again as he approached and handed her a bottle.

"Thank you," she replied.

"May I?" he asked of her, pointing to the reading lamp.

"Sure," she said, taking a sip of her water.

 _A soft light filled the room then and she briefly wondered what kind of crazy person she had looked like, sitting alone in the dark … unable to sleep after such a momentous day._

"So … you weren't working?" he smiled, brushing his light brown locks away from his face.

She pressed her lips together. "No … far from it, it's silly really …," she exhaled.

"Now that's an adjective I would never use for the likes of you," he joked, tilting his head.

 _She smirked and closed the screen of the laptop entirely and thought briefly about how far they had come in their mutual understanding of one another. She was almost dismayed by the man he really was and for a brief second, she thanked whatever spirit there was that he made it to that courtyard in St. Louis that day. Tears gathered and she looked away from his scrutiny._

Harley exhaled. "You know, people cry in front of me all the time …," he said then.

Rachel turned and found him through her watery gateways. "And you think that's a good thing?" she joked.

"Sometimes …," he smirked, rubbing the sheen of stubble along his jaw.

She sighed. "Well … I was looking at those maps again, trying to discern the direction the team might have fled to in order to wait out the rain …," she breathed.

"Did you see anything new?" he prompted.

"No …," she answered.

"Well, there's nothing silly about that," he said with encouragement.

"Oh," she chuckled. "That wasn't the silly part," she smiled, her heart raced.

"No?" he tilted his head.

"No …," she exhaled. "I was actually looking at those photos you sent to us, the ones you plan to use in your article about this mission …," she whispered.

"I see …," was all he said.

Rachel inhaled in an attempt to collect herself. "I … miss him … Tom …," she confessed then. "And I realized … these are the only photos I have of him … and of us, for that matter … and I just wanted to see him again," she went on, her chest tight, she twisted her mouth together now.

Phillip's smile brightened and he stood abruptly. "You know those weren't the only photographs I took … they were just the ones I _chose_ …," he said to her, another secret within his eyes now, "Don't move, I'll be right back!" Rachel smiled and he swiftly slipped into the second room and emerged from within toting his laptop bag. "Here, sit next to me," he said then.

"All right," she agreed and moved her chair. Phillip sat down and turned his laptop on.

After toggling several photos, he opened a file with hundreds of thumbnails – _so small she couldn't make anything out_ – he then moved to another folder with only about fifty or so images. "These were my final images, the moments I thought really encapsulated what I wanted to see … that day of the photo shoot," he smiled. "I have hundreds of images from this mission so far – _most of them candid_ – plenty of the children and the team too," he explained. "But this … this was one of my favorites of you and Tom … I'll show the other to you in a minute if you like …," he went on.

 _He clicked on the file and revealed a photograph of her and Tom - obviously taken toward the end of the shoot – Tom's stance more relaxed, as was hers, for they were leaning into one another. His hand slung low around her hip, his fingertips visible – his smile reaching his blue gateways, her face turned up to his with a beaming smile – her own eyes sparkling as if he was all she saw in the world._

" _See how he's looking at you there? And how you're looking at him …,"_ came Phillip's voice from far away.

"Yes …," she smiled. "I remember that moment, actually," she said then. "He told me to remind him never to become a model – _and that photo shoots weren't his cup of tea_ – and then I looked up to him and laughed …," she reminisced, her cheeks flushed now.

Phillip smiled. "When I saw this photo again after I had gotten to know Tom a little better … I thought I could see here, so easily how he described you to me …," he articulated.

"And how was that?" she wondered – _unable to look away from the photo_ – from Tom's eyes and the way they seemed to dance with hers, even in this still photograph.

"He said you were a force of your own making – _your own 'volition' was his term_ – and that he never met a person like you before in his life," he recollected. "He also told me you were very much revered by the crew of the Nathan James …," he reported. "And that to him … you were _'irreplaceable'_ …," he breathed.

Rachel's heart raced and the photo became blurred with her emotions, her breathing hitched, "Irreplaceable _…_ I see."

"It's all about perspective I suppose, but I can readily see his admiration of you in this moment now … it's all in the eyes …," he sighed wistfully.

 _Rachel collected herself, her mind on Tom and his all-seeing, endless blue eyes and his smile and the way she felt when she was wrapped inside his embrace when no one was looking. Flooded with memories of their few precious moments spent truly alone – she ached for him now like no other before him, longed for him in a way she expected she would and yet – she was still surprised to feel his tug upon her heart, her lifeline … from such a far distance … and it was made apparent to her now, that he was irreplaceable too._

" _Here …,"_ Phillip said then as he toggled the slideshow. Rachel smiled at him. "All you have to do is start here and you can look at all of my favorites from St. Louis – _some from the photo shoot and celebration brunch and our wait to take off at Scott_ – there's probably a good hundred there …," he chuckled. "My second favorite image of the two of you is in here too …," he went on.

"And where were we?" she asked of him, alighted now by their conversation.

He smiled. "Well, you were sitting on a small sofa off of the hangar at Scott while we were waiting for Holbrooke's green light," he sighed, clicking through the images. "And I don't know what it is, but you both seem so … at ease …," he chuckled and then stopped clicking. "Here," he pointed.

 _Rachel smiled immediately, for the photo was taken after she and Tom sat down together while they watched Danny and Kara from afar – debating about the how's and why's of intimacy and heightened emotions on a Naval destroyer – and Phillip was indeed correct, she and Tom looked at ease with one another. They looked like they'd been together for years already. Rachel's heart raced and she smiled at the memory – her paper cup raised, her eyes pinned to Danny and Kara behind the planter – while Tom sat beside her with a look of anticipation upon his face … his unwavering gaze fixed on her, his head inclined as if he'd wagered a bet._

"What do you think was on Tom's mind?" Phillip wondered then.

Rachel laughed and turned to back to him. "I can tell you exactly what he was thinking," she answered without hesitation.

"Oh?" he queried.

She smiled broadly. "It was the tea in my cup," she laughed and shook her head. "He's waiting to see if I will make a face," she exhaled, her eyes tearing up.

Phillip smiled. "And you did," he chuckled. "Click the slideshow forward," he said with a bemused grin.

 _Rachel did as he asked and therein, the next frame of that moment they shared was there – her lips were pursed and Tom's grin was large and happy – for that tea had been downright awful. Unforeseen tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked hastily, the watery image disappearing for a beat while she collected herself._

"So … you're a tea snob?" Phillip asked of her, effectively lightening the mood.

Rachel snorted. "Perhaps," she sighed happily. "I've told Tom on more than one occasion that one day I will have a proper cup of tea again …," she said with a dramatic flair and Phillip laughed along with her. "Thank you … for this …," she said softly then. "For sharing your work with me … and for cheering me up …," she smiled, steadily holding his intense gaze so he would know she meant it.

"No problem," he answered, a satisfied grin on his more serious face now.

 _And then for one reason or another, Rachel couldn't help but think of her father … as Phillip reminded her of him quite a bit with his lifestyle choices – never really settling, always searching for life's hidden truths and answers – for much like her father, she knew now that there was more to him than met the eye. She knew there were countless moments of insight and life experiences held within his vast gaze … for he had seen many truths. And as she pondered this idea of seeing things for what they really were, she found herself staring at him._

"What?" he prompted, inclining his head.

"Oh nothing," she smiled and then added, "You remind me of my father, actually."

"Really?" he chortled incredulously.

"When he was younger … _much_ younger," she chuckled with a wry grin. "When I was just a girl …," she whispered. "And he had his whole life ahead of him …," she smiled with recollection.

"Hmm … and is that a good thing?" he wondered.

"Yes …," she answered, her memories percolating now. "I used to idolize him," she exhaled.

"Used to … until …," he queried softly.

Rachel pressed her lips together. "Life got in the way," she whispered, her heart racing now.

"As it does some of the time …," Phillip offered sensibly.

"Yes, I suppose it does," she whispered – _and so did death, some of the time_ – acute sadness encapsulating her then, awash in the memory of her mother's passing.

"Why don't you look through the photos …," Phillip skillfully redirected. "I haven't gone through my shots from yesterday yet, but I know there are a great many of the kids and you and Jed, even Bautista …," he joked. "I'll get to narrowing those down, but in meantime, feel free to browse … and I'll eventually get all of your favorites to you, of course …," he encouraged with a soft smile.

 _She smiled at his gesture and did as he suggested – letting go again of some of those more painful memories of her childhood – in favor of focusing on what she hoped was the start of her future with Tom._

 _Soon enough – Harley rose and quietly went back to his quarters – leaving her alone with hundreds of moments to relive. Hundreds … she pondered that number … hundreds of moments – only days old in age – wherein she silently wondered how many more they might share over their lifetime together._

 _'Please, please, please', she whispered again. 'Let there be more,' she pleaded silently._

 _###_

 _The balance of the late night and wee hours of the morning passed by at snail's pace – every moment felt like an eternity – and when the sun finally rose in the sky – Rachel began to ready herself for another day. For in a very short while they would head down to the quarantine and press on there with the hope that this morning, those people within would have a new outlook on life._

 _Presently she worked through the discomfort radiating from her shoulder and towel-dried he hair the best she could. She brushed her teeth and took her pill … four spots missing from the foil packet now … four days and counting. The fourth morning was upon them. A knock at the door startled her and she swiftly moved to open the door; she found Danny on the other side._

"We're good to go," he told her, his bright eyes searching hers. "Bautista just talked to Captain," he nodded in assent.

Rachel's heart raced and sudden tears pricked at her eyes. "To him? Directly? So they're all right?" she peppered him, her heart stuck in her throat. "Everyone is all right? Did they sound all right?" she went on.

"Yes … no injuries," he confirmed. "Just sidelined by the rain … and some treacherous mudslides, from what I hear," he explained.

 _She found herself speechless, disappearing behind the curtain of her steady tears for a long moment. She reached for the door jamb and steadied herself there, her chest on fire – her prayers had been answered – 'thank you, thank you, thank you' – was all she could think._

Inhaling sharply, she looked up. "My apologies …," she sniffled, a small smile gracing her face.

Danny titled his head. "No need, I get it …," he smiled handsomely.

"Yes, you do…," she whispered _._ "You know … I never did say thank you," she added, taking a closer look at him now, she saw his eyes were as tired as hers wherein she wondered if he'd gotten any sleep.

"For what?" he asked of her, leaning on the opposite door jamb.

"For tolerating me yesterday," she answered. "And for not judging me … and for prodding my stubborn brain the right direction …," she said with a wry grin.

Danny chuckled. "I just said what Captain would have," he pondered evenly, ever the diplomat. "But … I also believe every word of what I told you … you know that don't you?" he asked of her, his brow knitted.

"I do …," she smiled. "And now we're one step closer to home," she exhaled, searching his eyes.

"Damn straight," he grinned. "Three, four days' tops and we're outta here!" he cackled, poking shameless fun at their original estimate for completion.

 _Rachel scoffed and he smirked and then took his leave._ _She watched him go with a smile, her energy renewed, her focus restored now. For there was no question now that the mission would continue – Vulture Team was safe – and the islands would indeed be inoculated and at a faster rate now that the quarantine had been a success and those fifty volunteers would join them to aid in the saving of their countrymen._

 _Everything was suddenly aligned. Rachel's dream of their reunion with Tom would come true – she knew and felt this now – for his convincing tug upon her heart told her so. And now it was written that they would come see him on that beach, pristine and beautiful before this day was over! He was all right. The family was all right. And there inside that moment, Rachel believed the fruition of this dream had somehow become all she ever wanted … and more._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 18**

 _Tom set the land-mobile radio handset back into its cradle and exhaled as a wave of unfathomable relief consumed him. His eyes moved over the defensive wounds on his hands – the cuts and scraps, superficial – though tender and raw. He exhaled again and blinked. Bautista sounded good. Rachel, the kids and his father and the entire team were well._

 _A smile crept along his weary face as he mulled over the idea of Rachel's phased quarantine … and of Bautista's apparent awe of her. His woman … his savior and the exponential power of her brilliance as she continued to astound him and those around her with fervent ability to protect and covet humanity in and of itself._

 _She was remarkable and he would remember to tell her so._

 _He closed his eyes then and listened – keen to the din of the area surrounding the command post tent where he stood still and privately marveled at his arrival to this juncture – this particular moment alone where he finally allowed himself to reflect. The waves crashed along the shoreline just beyond the community camp (comprised of both military personnel and civilians) that bustled with purpose following their harrowing stalemate with the torrential rains and subsequent mudslides. The air was humid and fragrant and delicately infused now with an organic balance of sea brine, island sweetness, deep earth … and survival._

Purposeful footsteps stopped just outside the tent before Mike appeared followed by Jeter. "So?" he prompted, his weary eyes searching Tom's.

"They're all right," Tom smiled tightly. "Bautista sounded well and satisfied," he reported. "It seems Rachel's presence on Subic was discovered and a riot may have ensued if not for her idea to stage a phased quarantine," he relayed quickly.

"So the boosters were administered already?" Jeter asked, his dark eyes marred with a flicker of uncertainty.

"Yes," Tom answered. "They apparently used several large auditoriums to stage a quarantine … head of households first who in turn passed the contagion onto their families and so on and so forth," he explained.

"How about that …," Mike muttered, his lips pressed together. "And when was this?" he said, obviously calculating the change into their plan.

"Over twenty-four hours ago," Tom answered.

"That doesn't leave us much time to effectively spread the cure to our people here," Mike calculated.

"No, normally it wouldn't …," he smiled. "Except Rachel brokered a deal with Bautista to dispatch a second aircraft to transport an additional fifty volunteers from the phased quarantine –"

"All of whom are carriers of the contagious cure at this point … extraordinary …," Jeter whispered somewhat dismayed.

Tom nodded in assent. "Exactly … which means my father and the kids have already endured the worst and on top of that – _the people here are better off for it_ – the cure will be even stronger by the time they land here …," he marveled.

Jeter smiled broadly. "Perhaps the tides have finally changed, Sir," he said with appreciation.

"I'd like to believe that, Master Chief, I really would," Tom smiled.

Mike exhaled. "And the other matter?" he prompted, switching gears. "Did you mention anything?" he pressed on.

Tom shook his head and answered, "No … that's a face-to-face conversation I'll need to have with Rachel."

 _A grim feeling of uncertainty encroached upon Tom now as he sighed, for this turn of events would be unexpected and he already knew how Rachel felt about surprises. She disliked them, immensely._

Sensing his discord, Jeter set his hand on Tom's shoulder and squeezed. "All in due time, my friend," he counseled smoothly, his Chaplain persona fully engaged as he searched Tom's eyes for signs of duress.

A reflective silence fell over the trio then wherein the waves crashed along the shoreline and the sun rose higher in the endless blue sky – _not a cloud in sight now_ – perhaps what the locals said was true: _the_ _monsoon season was indeed over._

Mike broke though the barrier of silence and asked, "Would you like to see what Cait came up with as a solution for us?"

"I would," Tom answered with a firm nod.

 _And with that, the men emerged from the makeshift command post, stepping out and into the early morning sunlight, eyes adjusting as they walked with purpose away from the shoreline and up the beach, toward the main bungalow of the resort._

 _While they walked, Tom noted the more lighthearted ambiance that had begun to replace the fear and uncertainty that had gripped the island prior to their arrival. And while many refugees were seemingly healthy, there were masses who were not. And while the insurgents were presently detained in one of the more remote bungalows – the fear they had disseminated to their hostages was deeply-rooted – and despite the continual effort of the propaganda campaign in play … there was still an undercurrent of uncertainty._

 _All they needed was time. Tom was reminded of this now as he fixed his gaze upon a small girl and boy, both islanders and both waving their placards high above their heads with delight, Rachel's dossier photo staring back at him as they did. He smiled broadly in return – yes, time was all they needed – and the cure would give that to them. And within that ray of hope, he switched gears and chose this moment to appreciate the greater feeling of unbridled optimism that had slowly begun to encapsulate the refugees as the word spread that the great Dr. Rachel Scott was en-route with the promised cure._

 _Further withdrawing into himself – he pondered the human condition now, including his own, as a man and a father … a son … and a lover – his boots sinking into the soft white sand, the sound resonating as he moved on and forward with renewed purpose. He nodded in assent to Burk and Miller, situated under the shade of a large palm tree alongside two of Bautista's men. He held their steadfast gazes with tenacity as he stepped through the barricade, communicating without words that all was well. Their young eyes sparkled in response – a hint of pride veiled within – pride of a job well-executed. And therein, he too felt immensely proud and allowed that sense of accomplishment to swell inside of his chest, even if for just this moment._

 _Eyes forward again, he craned his neck up and looked upon the palm trees high above him, relieved to see how they hung without movement … no high sea winds today. And still no cloud formation. Inhaling, he filled his lungs with the sweet, humid air, his shirt clinging to his back as the heat from the sun's powerful rays blanketed his shoulders._

 _Scanning the perimeter as he walked with purpose now, he once again imagined the island in its purest form – a version of itself in history, this pinnacle of an enchanted place Rachel had dreamt of – which had somehow been juxtaposed into another stratum of her childhood that would be tarnished by sickness. His heart sank, plummeting to his depths as the reality of what lay ahead for her consumed him. Trudging on and forward, his mind reeled with just how he might begin to explain the unexpected circumstances that had bewildered them on this island thus far._

 _###_

They reached the steps of the resort's main bungalow and kicked the sand from the soles of their boots as they nodded to Bautista's men, positioned here as a security detail. They ascended the steps, the sound of the power generator hard at work. Mike opened the door and they stepped inside, leaving the noise behind as the door closed and the world outside fell away for a brief flicker of a moment. The ceiling fan whirled above them and Cait, the resort manager, stepped into the hallway from the back bedroom.

"I've met _'the ghost'_ Captain," she stated evenly, her blue-green eyes fixed on Tom's over her bifocal glasses, her abundant dark hair piled into a messy bun. She was careworn by the turn of events; he could tell that much. "He indeed is very sick and weak," she asserted carefully – _the lilt of her British accent_ – both smooth and calm.

"Yes, he is," Tom agreed with a nod.

 _He glanced to Mike and Russ before his eyes swept along the modest space, shades of yellow and green everywhere, the simple furnishings, a mere reminder of the resort's, 'less is more' approach to vacationing._

"What shall we be prepared to do?" she wondered, her voice, soft, unassuming.

He sighed. "Make him as comfortable as we can … for now," he recommended. "I'll know more after I speak with Dr. Scott," he explained. "I presume you've situated him in the corner room?" he prompted.

"Yes, but in doing so, we've had to modify our plan of your sleeping arrangements and shift everyone – _and with your approval_ – I will relocate Lieutenants Green and Cruz to share the adjacent bungalow with Lieutenant Burk and Ensign Miller along with the balance of your military convoy from Subic Bay … everyone else will be situated as they were before …," she went on.

 _Nodding absentmindedly, Tom revisited the calculation for the number of rooms they needed and in doing so, he came up one short. If Holbrooke and Harley bunked together and he put the kids with him and Mike and Russ together in another room – leaving his father and Rachel to each take a single – yes, they were one short._

"You're hesitating, Captain …," Cait intuited then.

"Yes, we're one room short … I think …," he answered.

"How do you figure?" she wondered. "I've only moved one pair of you," she tilted her head. "I've got your esteemed father in a single," she smiled genuinely. "And the children together in one room … these fine gentlemen here together in the back left room … and you with Dr. Scott in the far corner suite on the other side of the bungalow …," she explained, nodding to the small hallway in the right corner of the space.

Tom followed her gaze before turning back to his confidants. "Our relationship … is …," his voice trailed off, he shifted on his feet and found her eyes again.

"New?" she speculated after another moment, a small smile appearing on her face now.

"Yes … and I think she might prefer her own quarters …," he exhaled as he considered the nights they spent alone at the hotel … and wondered what she might want to do here. "We have the children to consider …," he explained, tilting his head.

"I see …," she said. "I apologize for the misconception … I got the impression–"

"It was an honest mistake, Cait," Tom interrupted with a smile.

She smiled and sighed, "I'm glad."

Russ shifted on his feet and stepped forward. "In light of our new developments, Captain ... might I suggest we wait and allow Dr. Scott to decide for herself? She may surprise you ...," he guided smoothly.

Tom smiled at his old friend, but held his tongue. He turned to Mike and waited. "That's a sound idea," his XO concurred politically.

"Would you care for anything, gentlemen?" Cait asked of them then. "Something to eat perhaps? Or some time alone in your quarters before the balance of your team arrives?" she prompted with hospitality.

"You're a wise woman, Cait," Mike stated evenly.

"Yes she is," agreed Tom. "I think I'll head out to relieve Burk and Miller and see that they come up for some sustenance," he reported easily. "Why don't both of you take some time now, get some rest, while you can …," he ordered, sensing his own need for some time to ruminate independently … and preferably out of doors.

 _###_

 _Having relieved the men, Tom stood off and to the side of the barricade, the shade of palm fronds offering relief from the fiery sun. Always a sea Captain, his eyes scanned the vast ocean in front of him, so gorgeous and unaffected by everything that had happened – his old friend, the deep sea – steadfast and yet unpredictable, just as life turned out to be._

 _He exhaled and held himself steady against his personal woes … while he held himself accountable too. For that was something he learned about himself since making landfall here – that all actions and whims, no matter how small – were met with consequences and revelations. He could acknowledge that now, for his actions piloted the course of his life … and landed him here. Just as it had for every man or woman on this island._

 _Paths became intertwined as did destinies or fates … he knew this now with certainty. He knew all roads and paths had led him here – and not astray – but with great purpose. He blinked and looked beyond the horizon and while the rains had indeed subsided, the memories of the storm surge and his compelling need for answers remained._

 _###_

 _With the refugees liberated and the insurgents restrained in a temporary brig, law and order had been restored. Bautista's men began to move about the coastline to set up more formal camps in preparation for the arrival of the cure._

 _Presently, Tom had gathered his men for a debrief in the main bungalow of the resort, which would become their residential quarters for the next few days. Though weary with fatigue, the men were alert and uninjured from the dogfight in which they overtook the insurgents, about half of whom appeared to be of Ramsey's mindset._

 _He inhaled sharply and turned to watch Cait, the resort manager, as she worked to prepare a light meal for them in the kitchen located in the far corner of the open floor plan. After having made contact with her following their decision to liberate Flora Island, she was indeed a sight for sore eyes by the time they met her. Impressively, she held her own for a good long while without assistance, for she knew the island well and had lived and worked here for about twenty years. She glanced up from her work now and nodded in assent to him. He nodded in return, his lips pressed together. At his invitation, she approached with a tray of coffee mugs, powdered cream, sugar and a carafe._

" _Gentlemen," she smiled, her British accent, persuasive with song. "Coffee," she announced as she set the tray down, her eyes landing on the stack of maps as she did._

" _Thank you, Cait," Jeter smiled._

" _And to you as well," she smiled. "I'm just so reassured now that you're all here and things will become more stabilized," she exhaled with relief._

" _So are we," Tom answered, holding her gaze._

" _I'll be back with a light meal shortly," she smiled and turned to leave._

 _The men watched her go and went about preparing their coffee. Tom took a long sip of his elixir, instantly fortified. He watched his men and hesitated to begin the debrief, for at this point, even something a small as a cup of freshly brewed coffee, seemed a luxury._

 _Before long, he returned to the task at hand. "See this, here?" Tom pointed to the hotspot he'd been tracking on the heat map and satellite imagery._

" _Could be an animal, Sir," Burke offered, tilting his head._

" _Could be … except …," he began. "If you look at this satellite imagery, here," he shuffled the pages. "It's still there," he pointed. "And these maps are days apart in their printing," he explained._

 _Cait approached with a small smile and began to prepare a buffet table for them, her trays filled with bowls of rice, fish and plenty of tropical fruits._

" _What's the terrain look like?" XO prompted._

 _Tom shuffled the pages again, "A higher elevation of where we are now, obviously remote … right alongside the freshwater stream that runs through the middle of the island, from the top to the bottom."_

" _So if you look at a chronology of the maps, has it always been there?" asked Miller._

 _Tom nodded in assent. "Yes, from the get-go … whatever it is, it's an outlier," he stated evenly._

" _And you want to go investigate …," Jeter intuited, holding his gaze._

" _Yes, it would be the prudent course of action if we're talking about security here," Tom answered. "Heat means life," he insisted. "And while Gator reported that the hotspots in the more remote parts of the island appeared to be too small to be human – there's life out there – and for whatever reason, it's not moving … and it's too large to be a small animal, or animal at all in my book, considering it's lack of movement," he contemplated aloud._

" _Or it could just be the ghost of the mountain …," came Cait's melodic voice from behind the buffet. "I've heard he's resurfaced," she added._

" _Come again?" Tom incited, turning to her, his brow knitted._

 _She smiled and chuckled under her breath, "My apologies, Captain." She sighed. "A mere joke … except to say the locale you're describing; it sounds a great deal like the area relevant to an ancient folklore I've heard sporadically over my twenty or so years on this island." Her eyes were serious, but her face softened. "Never you mind, lunch is served," she announced._

 _The men smiled up at her. Tom cleared his throat and stood to address her. "Why don't you join us, Cait," he said then. "I'd like to hear more about this island and its lore," he stated evenly, his keen eyes fixed to hers, his mind suddenly on Rachel and her happier childhood memories spent here._

" _All right then," she agreed._

 _Everything was quiet for a time then, save for the clatter of a dish here or there along with a subdued appreciation for the momentary reprieve of how serious life had become. The lunch was simple and perfunctory and yet, Tom felt as though it was the finest meal he'd eaten in a long, long while. Prepared to perfection – the food was flavorful and clean – infused with just the right amount of island flare and flavor … a collection of colorful plates for starved palates. The conversation also flowed naturally and while Cait had not been vetted in the traditional sense, she had more than proved herself as an ally and very soon the team took Tom's lead and spoke rather freely with her._

 _A short wile later, as they were finishing the meal, Tom circled back to Cait's earlier statement, his curiosity piqued, "So … this 'ghost of the mountain' … what's that all about?"_

 _She smiled and tilted her head. "Ancient folklore, Captain," she chuckled. "I promise I was joking," she insisted._

" _Well … humor me then," he stated evenly as he folded his napkin and set it on the table._

 _He watched for Cait's reaction as he took a long sip of his iced-tea – brewed by the sun, for he noticed she had jars of the concoction all over the kitchen – the cool drink, a delicate balance of pineapple along with a flavor he couldn't put his finger on, was simply refreshing._

 _Cait spooned some another helping of fruit into her bowl. "Well …," she smiled and passed the bowl to Mike._

" _Thank you," he replied with a firm nod._

 _She sighed. "The story begins something like this: thousands of years ago, this string of islands was somewhat inhabited by persecuted citizens of the surrounding islands …," she explained. "You know … the outcasts of society – exiled here for a vast number of reasons – disease, deformity, defamed character … sorcery …," she said thoughtfully, tucking back an unruly flyaway hair._

" _Not a bad place to be exiled," Burk pondered and Cait smiled at him._

" _Indeed … though exile in and of itself is a harsh circumstance, is it not?" she wondered. "And in a less civilized time … I wonder how truly cruel it might have been … to be ostracized like that … no matter how beautiful the locale, it would be a lonesome place," she whispered and shook her head._

" _Rather eerie …," Jeter spoke up then. "The embedded history of this island … somewhat repeating itself now within the last several months ...," he pondered sagely._

" _Yes, how right you are," Cait agreed, meeting his endless gaze._

" _And this 'ghost of the mountain' … he once was a man in exile?" Tom ventured, drawing Cait's attention._

" _Yes … as the legend goes – he was a high priest whom fell in love with a beautiful princess – the king and queen's only daughter …," she began, a small smile gracing her face. "But however strong their love was … it was not enough to earn the king's approval, for he had promised her hand to another more powerful man, with more means than a pious priest could ever provide ...," she retold._

" _And so the high priest was exiled by the king to avoid discord?" Mike discerned._

" _No actually," Cait revealed. "Legend has it that he left on his own accord – stole away in exile in the middle of the night – for he knew he would not be able to endure seeing the princess so forlorn … nor would he be able to watch her marry another …," she went on._

" _I see …," said Tom._

" _And so he allegedly came here … and removed himself so far from society that he perched himself at the very top of the island … where he would live out his days alone," she sighed heavily. "And as time moved on … the folklore has been imbued with life and embellishments … where elders would come to tell their children and their children's children that the freshwater stream represented the high priest's enduring sadness …," she smiled woefully. "Thereby leaving generations to come with supernatural evidence of the high priest's 'endless stream of tears' over the loss of the love of his lifetime and beyond …," she finished._

" _And is any of this true?" Mike muttered, his keen eyes moving between Cait and Tom._

" _Well, archeological evidence suggests it to be true … not the folklore per say … but …," she smiled and blinked. "People did in fact inhabit this island – high into the mountain where some ancient stone ruins still lay today – ruins that are believed to be single dwellings … and are located along the stream's edge … which was the impetus of this anecdote in the first place …," she concluded with a chuckle._

" _Yes … it was," Tom smiled. "Lieutenant Burk," he redirected. "Please locate the heat map with the topographical underlay," he requested._

" _Yes, Sir," Burk stood and gathered the maps. He shuffled through the stack and handed one to Tom._

" _Thank you," Tom smiled and pushed his chair back. He laid the map upon a nearby table. Cait came to stand at his side. "See here…," he pointed. "Is this about where those ruins are?" he prompted._

" _Why yes, precisely," she answered, somewhat vexed. "And this … this means heat?" she asked of him, pointing to the orange-yellow mass._

" _Yes," Tom answered._

" _Interesting," she exhaled, moving her fingers along the map. She tilted her head. "Well … outside of one or two hot water springs I know of up there … I'm not sure what that could be …," she sighed._

" _At first you said that you heard the ghost had resurfaced," Tom replied, turning to her. "What did you mean by that?" he asked._

 _Cait smiled. "Well … months ago, before things got messy here," she began, her eyes pinned to Tom's. "I had heard a report or two along with some local laborers down by the beach saying that the ghost had returned and that some visitors a while back had even seen him!" she recollected. "I thought nothing of it, until you mentioned this heat map ... perhaps someone is in exile up there_ _ _…_ ," she murmured, somewhat dismayed. _

_Tom turned to Mike and Russ, "We've got to get up there today. We can't risk the unknown, people are ruthless in this world now and if we're securing this island, that must include this outlier."_

 _###_

Jarred from his thoughts, he smiled at his ever serious XO as he made his way down the beach flanked by Burk and Miller.

"He's asking for you," Mike smiled tightly, squinting under his cap.

"I see," Tom answered, turning to the horizon again. He searched for answers, scanning the wild blue yonder.

"Cait said he's at least hydrated again as far as she's able to discern," he reported.

"And his level of pain?" he ventured, turning back to the men.

"Acute," Jeter assessed. "Perhaps we should try again to give him something for the pain," he went on, his eyes vacillating, for he too, was looking for answers.

"He'll just refuse," Mike interjected.

Tom sighed heavily, "I agree." He shook his head at loss for what to do. "We'll wait for Rachel and see how things unfold, might be better for his lucidity regardless …," he directed. "I'll go up now and see what I can do," he exhaled.

 _###_

Nodding to Bautista's men at the foot the stairs, he entered the bungalow and closed the door behind him, smiling at Cait when he spotted her. She was standing the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a giant papaya. She raised her shoulder and pushed her wild flyaway hair from her face. "Before you do anything else … for anyone else, I think you should take some time to yourself," she stated evenly. "Maybe freshen up before your family arrives …," she prompted.

Tom smiled at her. "I think you're on to something," he muttered, his uniform saturated with sweat, salt and mud. He glanced down the hallway.

"He's been asking for you … but he has no concept of time, Captain," she rationalized. She set the papaya down in the sink and smiled. "Come, I'll show you to your quarters," she said as she passed him by. Tom followed her down a small hallway on the opposite side of the bungalow, the floor creaking under his weight. "The children will be in here," she pointed to a small room with two beds with simple, bright décor. "And you … and Dr. Scott, or however you decide, will be in here," she said as she pushed the door open. Tom smiled. "The washroom is right through that door there," she pointed, setting her hand on his broad shoulder. He exhaled and held his tongue, simply nodding to her as she disappeared and closed the door behind her.

 _And then all was quiet. He felt big and out of place. He stood by the door and removed his boots. Righting himself, he scanned the room – a large bed in the center, his duffle bag perched on the armchair in the corner – hues of claret, yellow and blue adorned the bedding and walls, all carefully decorated so as not to overwhelm. He inhaled sharply – the sweet aromatic air filled his lungs – while he stilled his heart, watching the shadows of the palm fronds as they danced along the sunlit walls … peeking outside the window, he could see the very tip of the beach to the far right, his old friend, the deep blue sea, behind that … ever present, always there._

 _Moving now, he reached for his bag and pulled a fresh uniform from within along with his toiletries – a shower and a shave might offer some clarity – for he was still very much at a loss of how he might explain what had happened and how they all ended up here, under the same roof on an island in the middle of the ocean … where their fortunes and fates had indeed intersected._

 _###_

Thankful for the shower and momentary reprieve from responsibility, Tom glanced at his watch – _in about an hour, they would be reunited_ – and though they were not a world away from one another, it certainly felt as if it was so. He felt as though everything had changed for him and Rachel and he wasn't sure how or why – _but he knew as soon as he saw her and the kids again_ – as soon as he set his hands upon their warm flesh and looked into their brilliant eyes, he would know and feel the success of this mission. And soon after that, the drastic change of their destinies would be upon them.

Sighing, he exited the room and paused when he spotted a cotton laundry bag Cait had tied to the door handle, a note attached that read: _'I expect to see your filthy uniform in this bag, Captain.'_

Tom smirked at her sass and intuition, for she was well aware that he would never expect her to launder his clothing. He folded the bag and set it upon the table just inside the doorway, he'd have to squabble with her about that later. With a smile still etched along his face he moved down the hallway and into the main room and again, surprised to find himself alone. The ceiling fan whirled above his head and he craned his neck up and watched it for a moment. Exhaling, he reluctantly turned and gingerly moved down the opposite hallway to the very back room and gently tapped on the door there.

" _Come in,"_ came the answer from the other side.

 _Tom entered the room – dimly lit with a small light on the bedside table – the darker curtains billowing in the humid breeze, the décor still sanguine and delightful … despite the more somber energy that filled the room._

"Captain Chandler," greeted the old man from the bed, his head raised on two or three pillows.

Tom smiled. "Reverend Scott," he greeted in return.

 _ **To be continued …**_


	19. Chapter 19

**I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 19**

 _Tom stood still and allowed his eyes to adjust to the filtered light as shadows played and danced along the walls of the Reverend's room. Absentmindedly, he watched their spectacle now, waiting for a cue … a sign … a signal … that everything would end as it was meant to … that there was a reason for their crossroads. Lost within his thoughts, the world seemed to fall away again and all that remained were two men. Motionless together on a pendulum of sorts. One strong and viral, the other emaciated, skeletal even. One of sound mind and one lost within his._

 _Exhaling, he privately took stock of the old man's health – his body a mere conduit for his pancreatic cancer now – for he was dehydrated in perpetuity, his eye sockets, hollow, his bony fingers laced together where he seemed to brace himself against his pain. He exhibited no signs of the virus – for he'd been spared in that regard – having fled to Flora Island just after his diagnosis where he had indeed exiled himself high into the mountains to live out the last of his days … unencumbered and in deep spiritual thought._

 _Acute sadness lodged itself alongside Tom's heart and rubbed him there until it settled in and found a place to reside. He sighed and finally moved to pull a chair up. He smiled tightly at the frail man and privately wondered for the thousandth time – what the heck he was going to do – and how he should go about explaining to Rachel that her father was here on this island … and that he was dying._

 _Already weak and near death when they found him, Tom thought once again about his own decisions … and fate and destiny and circumstances. For in his weakened condition, the Reverend would not have the wherewithal to survive the mudslides. 'He'd be dead now.' That was the singular thought Tom had wrestled with again and again since the old man's rescue. 'He'd be dead now' and no one would have ever known … 'he'd be dead now' and Rachel would have been spared … or would she have?_

 _He blinked and found himself pondering his own father and his mortality … and life and how it had become so precarious. His chest tightened and he breathed through his grief … a flicker of Darien's beautiful smile appeared and then she was gone. He felt himself falter._

" _Captain?"_ came the Reverend's voice, barely audible.

Pushing his maudlin thoughts aside, Tom turned to the old man and smiled, "My apologies."

"Not to worry," he replied slowly, his watery eyes vacillating over Tom's before he craned his neck and looked about the room. "I might have been here … once … long ago," he breathed.

"I believe that to be true," Tom replied. "You're on Flora Island," he reminded him.

The man's face lit up and he chuckled breathlessly, "Yes, I am." He gathered his senses. "I must have told you, on the mountainside … I remember now … before the rains came and the mud went sliding … and you took me with you."

"That's right," Tom encouraged.

 _And then all was quiet once more as the old man seemed to reflect, for he was lost deep within a time continuum – one orchestrated by his ailing health – one that allowed him to live where he desired to live at this critical juncture. The only change to his plan: they had removed him from his solace upon the mountain top … and now the only difference between this room on Flora Island and hospice bed, was a morphine drip, which he refused._

" _Flora Island … a gorgeous place …,"_ the Reverend cut through Tom's reverie. "Did I tell you … I spent the most _glorious_ … and _beautiful_ moments of my lifetime on this island?" he blinked and trained his eyes on Tom.

Tom nodded, appreciating his moments of lucidity. "You did."

"Yes …," he affirmed with a whimsical smile. "My wife … she was a striking woman …," he breathed. "She was healthy … so young and free-spirited," he exhaled, smiling until an opaque shadow of sadness and uncertainty cloaked him.

"I remember," Tom sighed heavily, his chest tight with anxiety.

The Reverend tilted his head in contemplation and then smiled again. "And my angel of a daughter … my beloved Rachel …," his voice trailed off, thick with emotion now. He shook his head, "She was so pure of heart, Captain … it almost hurt to look at her … some of the time."

Tom's eyes welled with fat tears, for there were moments that he felt the same about Rachel. She was a gorgeous woman no doubt, but her true beauty stemmed from deep within her core ... the gems he had discovered under the vast layers of her protective cloak. He smiled into himself and let the man ramble on – _for he felt a territorial need to protect Rachel's privacy_ – and within that prerequisite, he had insisted the team keep her whereabouts and their relationship with her to themselves. A disconcerting pretext that quickly became effortless – _for very soon after they encountered the old man upon the mountain_ – the heavy rains began and their endeavor became more about surviving the mudslides than maintaining a false pretense with regards to his estranged daughter.

And so Tom gathered his emotions and remained silent, indulgently listening now to the old man prattle on again about Rachel as a child – _and although he had hoped for a new story or anecdote_ – it seemed the Reverend was rather circular, wherein his most cherished memories remained at the forefront of his cerebral thoughts and nothing new was unearthed.

" _She could light up the darkest room … my Rachel, with her eyes as intense as a tiger's …,"_ he was saying now. "And my … my how she … _cared_ … _so_ _profoundly_ … about what mattered most to her …," he exhaled, his voice trailing off again.

Tom smiled reflectively – _it seemed Rachel's character hadn't changed_ – for she indeed had an intrinsic awareness and fighting spirit that belonged solely to her. He glanced at his watch, her arrival was imminent now along with the collision of their worlds … _daughter and father once again._ No longer would they be a pair of beings that had lived separately for years – _close to half of Rachel's lifetime_ – as it seemed now that Rachel departed for college and never looked back.

Pausing to reflect, his chest swelled with sadness now and he suddenly thought of Ashley and Sam and how he would never be able to tolerate an estrangement in his relationship with them. He thought of fatherhood and what it meant to him – _and of his own father_ – the finest man he'd ever met. He thought of Russ and Mike and the unfathomable loss of their children … fathers in perpetuity though. He thought of Green and Burk and Cruz and Miller and their losses … fine fathers, assumed dead. He also thought of Tex and Kathleen – _and their incredible reunion_ – and therein a small glimmer of hope was sparked. Hope that Rachel might look upon this coincidence and realize the opportunity to repair their fissured relationship … if even for a brief moment in time, for it was no secret between them that she harbored a great number of conflicting emotions when it came to her father: anger, betrayal, abandonment, to name a few.

" _Have I mentioned her prodigious intellect?"_ the old man murmured now. "My how she challenged me … and the timeless ideologies I lived to sustain …," he chuckled, inhaling sharply.

Tom nodded, emotion lodged in his throat, "I'm aware."

"This was our great downfall – _hers and mine_ – our impassable divide …," he admitted. "And as fate would have it – _the burden I would carry with me_ – for all of my days … all of them, even this day … perhaps my last …," he rambled on, his breathing labored, his lucidity adrift once more.

Mindful of his weaknesses, Tom leaned forward and suggested, "Perhaps you should rest."

He acquiesced, but fought his urge to succumb and shook his head instead. Straining to focus on Tom, he studied him carefully now and pressed his lips together. "This is karma," he declared thickly before his eyes dipped shut.

 _Tom's heart stilled … karma. Pausing, he found himself alone in the maelstrom of his thoughts – watching now as the strain on the pious man's face receded – and the lines of his lasting tension relaxed along with his jaw. Exhaling, Tom attempted to strategize, reminding himself that Rachel would arrive soon along with his father – and perhaps between the three of them and Russ – they could handle what would surely come next._

 _###_

The afternoon sun was hot and the air was thick with humidity as the engines of the first Grumman G-73T amphibious plane switched gears amidst the afternoon low tide and began to sail toward the shoreline at a slow clip – _the fuselage emerging from the sea_ – water raining from its wings as the pilot taxied upon the beach … the seaplane now on dry land.

Tom smiled broadly and declared, "That's how it's done, gentlemen."

"Always impressive," Mike agreed, taking a sidelong glance at his Captain.

They stood still and waited for the aircraft to come to a complete stop and while they paused, Tom took stock of the scene surrounding them – _his coveted men standing tall with him_ – Bautista's men, standing at attention for the arrival of their Commander in Chief. And behind them, people from all walks of life, a far off warbled chant emerging from the crowd now – _'aming santo'_ – their native clarion call, indiscernible from behind the barricade … _'aming tagapagligtas'_.

The engines cut off and Tom felt his heart alight – _squinting from under his cap_ – he stepped forward with anticipation and watched as the door was released and it slowly slid open. About ten of Bautista's men emerged from the aircraft and held their positions just outside the door, heavy boots on the white pristine sand. Then the signal from the ground crew.

"That's us," he exhaled with relief.

And without another singular thought, the team moved forward with him, eyes pinned on the door as Green and Burk appeared – _their smiles broad and proud –_ their eyes dancing before they stood in place and looked to the doorway. Out next was Lieutenant General Leon Bautista, whom first saluted his men and turned to hold Tom's gaze with tenacity for a beat before he too, turned around and looked expectantly to the doorway as Ashley and Sam bounded forth, stepping out and into the sunlight, eyes alert for their father.

 _Captivated, Tom took stock of his children – keenly aware of his trembling heart as Bautista pointed and they followed his prompt – strong and healthy, they spotted him with ease and were tethered to him in an instant. Rushing toward them, time lost all meaning as their forces collided, where destinies and fates were once again calibrated._

"Whoa!" he huffed as they slammed into him, their small bodies packed with so much energy, he almost toppled over.

"Dad … I love you … we missed you so much …," came Ashley's breathless call into his ear as she held on for dear life.

"We did it!" exclaimed Sam into his other ear. "We cured people … everywhere we went," he added as he held on tight.

 _Kneeling down, Tom gathered his hitches and coiled them near, inch by inch, until all he could feel was their tiny heartbeats and the tufts of their warm breath as it breezed across his cheeks – his son's eyes so much like his mother's his heart almost arrested. Unable to blink, he stared at them as he imprinted this moment in time – for never did he want to forget this reunion – and never again would he take a moment such as this for granted._

"And I love you both … so much," he exhaled, his mind racing right along with his heart. He blinked his tears into recession. "You've grown … you astound me … you're a vision …," he marveled, eye-to-eye with them now.

 _He gathered Sam into his arms and reached up to flick a lone tear away from Ashley's face wherein he wordlessly checked on his girl – her brown hair wild in the ocean breeze – her face more angular than he remembered. He shook his head and smiled, amazed by her fortitude … and in that moment he thought of Darien and felt proud enough for the both of them._

 _Closing his eyes, he held them near and basked in the warmth of their unconditional embrace ... with the waves cascading along the shoreline and the perfect sun high in the cloudless sky … and the chant of crowd – 'aming santo, aming tagapagligtas' – the soundtrack for the moment._

 _And as the crescendo of the chant resonated, Tom stood with the kids and spun around to see Dan Holbrooke and Phillip Harley as they stepped into the sunlight followed by his father and Rachel – windswept and as gorgeous as ever, sporting her typical garb – her amber eyes trained on his now as she smiled brilliantly and took his father's hand in hers and squeezed, her nose crinkled with unbridled happiness as they shared a joke before she released his hand and made her way to him._

Reaching Tom, she clung to him now – _where he felt her shudder, a gasp of emotion funneling from her depths_ – as she naturally settled into his cradle hold where she belonged for all time. His world was complete. She was here with him … on her dream of an island. Flora Island, the milieu where it all started. Her good arm wrapped around his waist – _her forehead pressed into his chest_ – her sighs of relief reverberating through their mutual embrace where he filled his lungs with her familiar essence and finally felt complete.

"I've been found …," she whispered thickly into his ear; the short hairs on his neck bristling, reacting now to her sudden proximity. "Right here … right this second," she husked as she looked up and into his eyes, stunning him for a beat.

He drew them near, his family, the children's arms circumnavigating them both now as he held her gaze and spotted with ease – _the pure unadulterated love ensconced within her soulful eyes, a look of adoration that surely mirrored his_ – as they lost the last of their senses and captivated one another for a brief flicker of time.

"I didn't know you were lost," he managed to say.

"Neither did I," she whispered, her eyes filled with tears, luminescent now with unkempt emotion. "Not until I saw and felt you again …," she exhaled breathlessly, setting her hand upon his heart, where his muscle pounded against her lithe touch.

 _Overcome with emotion, she acquiesced to her desires and retreated back and into his warm embrace wherein Tom set his chin upon her crown and looked ahead, his eyes trained on his father's now – the Chandler men nodding in unison, communicating without words – raw sentiments exchanged, chests and hearts filled with same brand of relief and pride and awe._

"Hi Dad," he greeted with a grin as he reached for his father's hand and Rachel rolled out of his embrace.

"Tommy," his father smiled and squeezed his hand. "You look well," he beamed, squinting under his ball cap.

"Likewise," Tom replied, squeezing his shoulder. "No worse for the wear," he affirmed, holding his steadfast gaze.

Bautista approached with a flourish now – _his smile broad and genuine_ – his keen dark eyes fused with Tom's. "Captain Chandler," he said, shaking his hand. "How satisfied I am that you have been reunited with your family … and that our joint mission has been a success thus far … even with the delay from the monsoon …," he said with great sincerity.

"As am I," Tom replied with a firm nod, appreciating their shared camaraderie.

Continuing on their quest, Bautista diplomatically moved on to the task at hand. "As you've been made aware, our second and third flights will arrive within the hour with thirty-four volunteers," he reported. "And this aircraft here will return to Subic Bay to retrieve another group of survivors … for a total of fifty-one enthusiastic volunteers to assist Dr. Scott in the full scale spread of her incredible cure," he went on, his eyes dancing between Tom and Rachel's now.

"Phase three of your quarantine …," Tom smiled, his eyes locked with Rachel's for a beat where he privately celebrated her.

She nodded wherein a small smile she saved just for him graced her angular face, "Something like that."

Bautista nodded in assent and then a large smile cascaded along his face and he suddenly looked like the child he might have been once, a long time ago. "Do you hear them, Dr. Scott? My people … are _your_ people …," he said with dismay, his expression almost ethereal now as he turned his attention back to the crowd.

She followed his gaze and the crowd's chant swelled into a wild roar of appreciation. Tom watched Rachel's cheeks heat as she smiled with sincerity, but laced her fingers through his and squeezed for reassurance. He smoothed his thumb across the top of her hand in response. "I'm at a loss for what to say or do …," she exhaled, her eyes searching now.

"Do you hear their call?" Bautista prompted again, stepping next to Rachel wherein the crowd went wild again. He raised his hand and the cries of appreciation grew tenfold. "They are chanting in Filipino – _'Our Saint, Our Savior'_ – and there is truth to that my dear friend, Dr. Scott … a profound, life-saving truth …," he breathed, his wet eyes vacillating over the crowd.

 _Without thinking, Tom draped his arm along Rachel's shoulders and drew her near as Ashley slipped her hand into his and brought Sam closer to her side. Jed stepped forward, flanked by Holbrooke and Mike, the balance of the team clustered nearby as Harley was positioned off and to the side where he peered into the lens of his camera and documented this momentous display of appreciation and affection._

 _Inhaling sharply – Tom allowed the island essence to fill his lungs – the humid, fragrant air, cleansing him from the inside out now as he enjoyed a momentary reprieve from all that would come next. The tenacious crowd, their chant strong and clear – 'aming santo, aming tagapagligtas' – the call reverberating now with greater clarity … a gesture far surpassing their wildest expectations._

 _###_

Without a clear idea of how long Reverend Scott could hold out … _survive, live, breathe_ … Tom felt immense pressure to have a moment alone with Rachel. But from the shoreline, they were escorted directly to the refugee camp site, Bautista no doubt, eager to deliver on his promise of the cure.

Soldiers with megaphones explained the phased quarantine and how they would proceed when the volunteer _'carriers'_ arrived in several hour's time. And the refugees, while happy to know that very soon they would move through the quarantine, were even more elated to see and meet – _even if for just a moment_ – the woman they deemed, their savior.

The atmosphere was eerily quiet considering the number of people in the camp, but as their rally died down, Tom noticed the refugees were more transfixed than anything else. Touching Rachel's sleeve akin to a heralded saint as she moved – _the crowd separated like the Red Sea as she passed by_ – and Tom knew he would never forget the circumstances of how this whole thing started … on the Nathan James in the Arctic … in contrast to where they ended up: _On an island in the middle of the ocean, a world away from where and how they once lived._

With the kids and Rachel closely guarded, Tom hung back and stole a moment with his father, whom was walking with Russ Jeter and Dan Holbrooke.

"Dan, you're looking well," Tom greeted with a firm handshake and a broad smile wherein he privately assessed the pilot. He seemed well and satisfied.

"I am," Dan replied, holding his gaze. "Despite the monsoon and mudslides … and insurgents … we've got an incredible turnout here," he smiled with appreciation. "A mission well-executed," he praised.

Tom chuckled, "Well you got us all out here, quite a team we've become."

Dan smiled, "Indeed."

They walked on and forward together now – _trailing a few steps behind Bautista's diplomatic circuit_ – the crowd both subdued and peaceful. Tom glanced at Russ and nodded in assent. "Dad … there's something I need to fill you in on," he began.

"Oh?" Jed prompted, his weathered eyes searching Tom's.

"Yes … well, it seems in a bazaar twist of fate … we ended up rescuing Rachel's father during the mudslides," he exhaled, releasing a very controlled measure of his stress.

"You don't say," Jed muttered in dismay.

"Wow," Dan muttered.

Jed stopped walking and the trio turned to him. "Out of all the things I thought you might say, that was never an option," he pondered and Tom could tell his thoughts began to plot the circumstances. "And she has no idea?" he prompted evenly.

"No … I thought it best to talk with her face-to-face … given their history," Tom explained.

"Wise idea," Jed agreed.

"I assume they're estranged," Dan concluded, his lips pressed together, his intense eyes softening around the edges.

"Yes, very much so and for many, many years …," Russ answered solemnly.

"Is he healthy? Could she run into him right here?" Jed asked with alarm, his eyes alert as he turned around to watch the procession again.

"No, Dad …," Tom answered. "He's very sick, but not with the virus … he has cancer," Tom exhaled, releasing another trigger of stress. Jed sighed heavily, weighted by the sudden development.

"And where is he?" Dan asked.

"The bungalow where we've set up our base and quarters," Russ answered.

"And does he know Rachel was en-route?" Jed asked, looking to Tom.

"No … I thought given the status of their relationship … I didn't want to impinge upon Rachel's privacy," Tom explained. "I believe she should be allowed to make that decision herself … I mean, there is a remote possibility she won't want to see him …," he went on, looking for validation.

"You did the right thing, Son," Jed answered and turned to Russ, "You both did."

Dan turned away from the procession and asked, "How much time does he have?"

"Not much," Tom answered, looking to Rachel again. He watched her kneel down to greet a child, caressing the girl's face as she did. "And all I know is, time is of the essence … and this will either break her heart or infuriate her … what a mess," he muttered.

"She'll do what she thinks is best," Russ counseled softly without judgment.

"And we'll be here for reinforcements," Jed asserted, his lips pressed together.

 _###_

 _The procession ended and the entire team headed up to the bungalows where Cait was ready and waiting. She emerged onto the porch. Introductions were made and she invited the team inside, having set up a light brunch in the main room. Grateful for the moment of rest and the sustenance, the conversation was light and Tom was more than elated to set his eyes upon his men and found himself assured that they were indeed healthy._

He turned to Rachel, watching now as she took a long sip of her iced tea, smiling with appreciation as she raised her glass to him and then to Phillip Harley a couple of seats over. She turned back to Tom and tilted her head as she regarded him – _taking another sip of her tea_ – impishly rolling her eyes while he contemplated what was in play.

"Good stuff, right?" he asked of her with a smirk.

"Absolutely lovely … the best so far …," she said, her eyes dancing with his while the world fell away and he stared at her for long moment until her cheeks turned pink.

"I'll need to speak with you … _alone_ … for a moment," he said then, his eyes darting to Mike's where he nodded in assent.

Rachel inched closer and said, "I'd like nothing more than a moment alone with you."

He smiled and turned to the kids, "We'll be right back … you guys okay here?"

"We're fine, Dad," Ashley answered with a small smile.

Jed encouraged with a nod, "We'll be here."

 _Tom gave Sam a high-five and rose from his seat as did Rachel. He found Cait's eyes and and smiled with appreciation. Mike looked up from his meal and glanced to Bautista situated to his right. Tom nodded in assent, for they need to inform Bautista of this personal, time- sensitive matter that would take precedence over the quarantine, depending on the outcome of this conversation with Rachel and the status of Reverend Scott's health._

 _###_

Moments later, Tom closed the bedroom door behind them and turned to find Rachel – _his woman, her hair half-up, her cheeks pink, her liquid amber eyes, still endless and all-seeing_ – she dropped her bag and licked her lips and he thought he'd never seen her look so beautiful.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he said gruffly as he closed the distance between them.

"So are you," she murmured as she stepped into his arms.

His mouth instinctively found hers where he kissed her soundly, her mouth pervaded with tropical fruit, his repetitions deep and unending as he set the tempo of their stolen moment – _slow and easy, long and hard_ – every pulse of their union suddenly meant something. Every moment was cherished.

Without reservation, she eased into his embrace where they truly lost themselves within one another. One hand on her toned tush now, he drew her even closer – _flush against him as his arousal for her stirred_ – commencing in his heart before it traveled to all points of his body, mind and spirit, wherein he felt his intrinsic need for her expand exponentially … his immense feelings for her, far surpassing those of his wildest dreams.

"I've longed for you," she said against his open mouth.

Tom hummed and kissed her again for good measure, his hands threading through her silky tresses as he pulled back and found her eyes, "You never left my mind."

 _Her breathless laugh filled the air and she kissed his cheek and then his neck over his pulse point where her mouth lingered, her hands pinned to his hips where she grounded herself. Riveted, Tom inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, swaying slightly with her in his arms as he privately coveted everything about her – everything he missed and everything she ever was to him – ducking down now, he kissed her again, his tongue massaging hers, his hands everywhere all at once … for he simply could not get enough of her and how she made him feel … so alive and off in heaven all at once._

Pulling back again, he set his forehead against hers, his eyes pinning her there, right where he wanted her – _the humid breeze twirling into the room_ – the salty air infused with the island sweetness he'd come to expect. The realization of his family's safe arrival jarred him back to reality then and therein he felt his eyes well with unforeseen tears. Grounding himself, he blinked his emotions into recession, for he needed to speak with her now, without hesitation.

Turning her in his arms he walked with her and they came to stand in front of the window and he parted the sheer curtain aside. Gathering his senses, he stilled his racing heart and draped his arm along her shoulders and whispered, "I need to tell you something."

She tilted her head up and found his eyes. She smiled but he saw her falter. "Whatever is it?" she asked, narrowing her gaze.

Reaching up, he brushed his fingers along her hairline, his eyes wide open, "It's … your father … he's here."

"What? How? Are you certain it's him?" she prattled on, her eyes wide with uncertainty and fear.

"Rachel …," Tom whispered, searching her face, looking now for any clue as to her gut feelings on the matter.

She shook her head in disbelief and moved away from the window where she came to sit on the bed. Tom followed her lead and sat down, jackknifing his knee in order to face her, he laced his fingers through hers.

"How?" she wondered again, her brow knitted. "Has he asked for me?" she prompted, her eyes glassy now. "Is he sick, Tom?" she whispered, her face ashen now with raw, uncensored emotion.

"Yes ... he's very sick …," Tom answered candidly, inching closer. "And yes … he's spoken a great deal about you …," he smiled weakly and held her watery gaze. "But he doesn't know you were expected to arrive here …," he explained.

"Was he not here for the cure?" she asked of him quickly, her eyes searching frantically now.

"No … he wasn't …," he breathed. "Rachel … he has cancer …," he whispered as her waiting tears fell.

"Oh …," she cried. "So I'm of no use to him … none …," she whispered, the shock sucker-punching her now as she folded into herself and openly wept, her body shaking in response.

"Rachel … don't," Tom beseeched her, drawing her near. "I wanted to protect you …," he breathed, his voice catching. "I wasn't sure how you would feel, so I held my tongue …," he sighed heavily, sharing his burden.

"Why here, I wonder?" she incited, her mind obviously racing, her eyes still vacillating.

"To live his last days in peace …," he murmured. "To feel the happiness he knew here, with you … and your mom …," he explained, his heart banging against his chest now as he reached up ran his fingertips along her hairline.

"Oh my … this is too much," she exhaled, leaning into his touch. "How long do I have?" she asked desperately. "How long does _he_ have?" she whispered, her red eyes pinned to his.

"Not long, I'm afraid …," he swallowed.

 _Upon her reckoning, Tom's heart fell and he reached for her, tucking her trim form deep into the envelope of his embrace where he could only hope to escheat some of her pain. And so there they sat for a long while – wrapped around one another as she trembled – letting go of a half of a lifetime of grief – her soft cries imbued within the crescendo of the waves as their crashes echoed against the mountain high above them, while short shadows danced along the colorful walls … and his woman's pure heart silently broke._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	20. Chapter 20

**I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 20**

 _Rachel's head pounded. She was alone for a moment now as Tom stepped out to grab a bottle of water for her – and in his absence she'd begun to pace the room – the colorful walls mocking her as she moved along her circuit. Her fingertips dancing along the wood furniture pieces, smooth with age, the room made bright enough with natural light. Her father was here … he was here … and near death, she attempted to wrap her mind around this cryptic change in her fate. What did it all mean? Her injured shoulder reacted to that question as a pulsating ache spreading through her entry and exit wounds._

 _Pausing at the floor-to-ceiling window – she held the sheer curtain aside and opened the door, just a crack – the humid air quickly funneled into the room now wherein she realized why it might have been closed. She inhaled sharply and cleansed her lungs with the sultry air, blinking rapidly in an effort to keep her waiting tears at bay. The sound of waves echoed throughout the space now as they rolled against the shore and bounced against the mountain high above her where she was temporarily lulled by their repetitive melody._

 _Peering outside, she focused on the horizon, casting her eyes upon the farthest point she could see now – beyond the cerulean ocean, both vast and endless and the palm trees that dotted the perimeter – to a cliff overlooking the island from the north. Seeking refuge there, she closed her eyes and imagined she was standing at the edge of that cliff now – for she just needed a moment – one where everything was manageable again … not startling or unreal or haphazard. One that didn't include her ailing father … her thoughts turned to her mother on her deathbed. She recoiled and lost herself inside a sense of renewed grief … and turmoil._

 _Inhaling sharply again, she appreciated Tom's familiar essence as it lingered in the tropical air wherein she absentmindedly wondered if this was his room. She turned around and scrutinized the space, peering into the washroom where she noticed his travel case and smiled at the domesticity of it all – her being left alone in his quarters – so vastly different than their lives on the Nathan James._

 _Everything was so different … and therein she once again imagined Tom and the stress he'd been enduring since his arrival here. Stress of the unexpected variety – for of all the obstacles he'd been prepared to encounter here – this was never one of them. A new collection of tears pricked at her eyes then and she sighed in response; the inevitable power of her stress permeated the intimate space now._

Footsteps, then a knock at the door gently tugged her from her thoughts. She opened the door to find Tom on the other side. "Water and Motrin," he announced with a weak smile before he stepped inside the sanctuary with her.

"My hero," she said with a smile; his deep chuckle bounced between them. She gratefully took both from him, uncapped the water and swallowed the tablets, the cool elixir refreshing her from the inside out. He closed the door behind him and moved his arm along her shoulders, skillfully guiding her toward the bed.

"How are things out there? Are the children all right?" she wondered as she sat down. _Her head spun. Her heart raced._ She looked up to Tom and breathed, "And how are you?"

Tom sat down next to her. "No change … and everyone is fine," he smiled, holding her gaze. "So am I … I'm better now that you're here … and you've been made aware of what's been happening …," he answered candidly, his blue eyes brilliant, though marred with apprehension. "I've been very concerned about you and how you might feel …," he exhaled.

"I can tell," she answered, staring at him still. He moved and drew her near and she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, willing the Motrin to numb her pain.

" _The pressure is off for the moment, I asked Mike to apprise Bautista of our situation …,"_ he informed her then.

Her heart raced and her eyes popped open at his implication. "Our situation …," she breathed, not quite a question.

He tilted his head and regarded her, pressing his lips together, "Of course … _ours_."

 _His tone was deep and reflective and her heart reacted to his sentiment, beating wildly for him as he smiled weakly and drew her near again. Craning her neck up, she set her mouth against his pulse point and kissed him there, breathing him in as she did. He must have just shaved, she inhaled sharply and smiled into herself. He hummed into the quiet and eased her back against the soft bed, her legs bent over the edge – the colorful quilt cool against her skin – an ambiguous pressure on her vertebrae, suddenly alleviated._

 _All was quiet between them now as he took her hand in his and she turned to face him, but found that his eyes were pinned to the ceiling fan … motionless, for now. She closed her eyes then and listened to the shallow staccato of his breathing, feigning off another round of tears – realizing now just how much she had truly missed him – and his calming presence in her life. Thankful for the stolen moment with him – she paused now and appreciated his proximity – for she knew that within the next few minutes, she would need to rise up face what was … predestined._

" _I'd like to speak with you about something else … before we go …,"_ came Tom's soothing baritone echoing from someplace far, far away.

 _Rachel's heart shimmied and she opened her eyes and turned to him where she followed his gaze – his eyes still darting along the ceiling – where he seemed to tenaciously trail the ebb and flow of the tropical shadows as they reflected off the sun akin to water in a pool._

 _She sighed and squeezed his hand. He turned to face her. He smiled handsomely and stared at her for a good long minute then and she noticed how the deep crease in his brow faded. Inhaling sharply, she pushed through the dull ache of her shoulder and rolled onto her side wherein he followed her lead and they came to rest face-to-face. Reaching up, he traced his fingertips along her halo, casting his spell where she lost herself within the deep recesses of his eyes. And just like that … they were alone and unencumbered._

"Sleeping arrangements …," he began quietly then. Rachel felt her cheeks heat. "Because I wanted your father to rest comfortably in this bungalow with us …," he sighed, his voice laden with uncertainty. "We're one room short …," he went on.

"I see …," she said, searching his eyes.

"And I wondered where you might be most comfortable … given the circumstances …," he pondered, searching her eyes. "I wasn't sure if you'd need some space … some time alone …," he uncharacteristically rambled.

She found herself smiling and asked, "And what are my choices?"

Tom smiled back at her. "Well … we could double up somewhere else … and you could have the kids' room …," he reasoned. "Or … you could stay in this room … with me …," he muttered, his eyes sparkling with renewed intensity.

Rachel's heart bleated with a love and adoration for him – _so intense now_ – it took her by surprise. She reached over and set her hand along the handsome plane of his cheek, her own cheeks hot with emotion. "If you think the children will be all right …," she smiled. "I want to stay here with you … without a doubt …," she whispered slowly, her eyes fastened to his: _stitch, stitch, stitch._

 _Without a word – Tom leaned forward and kissed her then – he tasted of sweet iced tea, his mouth, a perfect fit. His ministrations – while intuitive and succinct – were careful enough not to smother her and yet … he made love to her mouth with such fervor that there was no question as to his wants and desires. He needed her as much as she needed him, she knew this now._

 _And she felt that need resonate deep within the core of her being wherein she fully surrendered to his soothing touch … trusting now, that never in her life had she belonged somewhere more than in his arms. For never had she felt so connected in mind, body and spirit … to anyone before him. And so propelled was she by this need now that she shifted inside of his embrace, his fingertips zipping along her spine as she effortlessly aligned herself with him … privately pledging herself to him for all time._

His caresses became measured now before he kissed her once more and Rachel opened her eyes to find his: _as endless as the deep ocean … trustworthy and careworn … and faceted with great surprises._ She smiled and acknowledged, "I'll have to see him soon."

 _Tom nodded with encouragement – his fingertips gliding along her clavicle – his gaze unwavering, the apprehension she'd spotted within, gone for now. She sighed and slipped her hand into his where the room and her thoughts once again became quiet … and perhaps even manageable._

 _###_

A short while later, Rachel entered the main room of the bungalow with Tom where she was met with the solemn eyes of the team. She nodded in assent to both Mike and Russ – _appreciating the men now more than ever before_ – and not because they were instrumental in saving her father from his perch of exile upon that mountain … but because they had been there for Tom when he needed them most. Not a new occurrence, she knew that of course … but her appreciation now came from a different, and far more personal perspective. And she felt that difference, tenfold as Ashley and Sam hurried toward her – _their eyes intense with anxiety and fear_ – so much so that her heart twisted in response and she found herself aching to ease their woes. _If only she could_.

"We know about your Dad," Ashley said softly.

"And we can go see him right now and cure him," Sam pressed on, his eyes a bit frantic.

Rachel's pulse accelerated and Tom reached for her hand. She took it and squeezed before she knelt down to the boy. "Oh Sam … he doesn't have the virus …," she whispered, her voice cracking now as she drew him near and made sure of him.

Ashley stepped forward and Rachel saw that her eyes were trained on Tom's as she looked to him for reassurance. He nodded and she set her young, but firm hand upon Rachel's shoulder. "So … he's sick with something else …," she intuited calmly, though her wild eyes betrayed her.

Rachel felt herself falter and Tom draped his arm along the girl's shoulders, "I'm afraid so," he answered.

"Something we can't help him with …," Ashley concluded, her keen eyes fixated on Rachel's now.

"Yes … sweet girl … it's out of our hands …," Rachel answered softly … _slowly_ … in an effort to maintain her composure.

She felt as though she stunned them then – _for she knew precisely how they felt_ – after all the saving they just did … why not her father? And so within that mirror into her soul, she smiled weakly and draped her arm along Sam's shoulder as she stood up and came to face the rest of the team again. Her eyes meeting Phillip's first – _where he said without words how sorry he was_ – a message she received loud and clear, especially from this man whom reminded her so much of her father … _this man she admired so profoundly_. For much like her father, Phillip spent his lifetime traipsing the globe … leaving small pieces of himself in his wake … and she could readily see now, the beauty of that gesture.

Jed stepped toward her then and said with affection, "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"As am I …," she replied, her heart racing.

She smiled at him and searched for signs of undue stress, unhappy to add another worry to his already full plate. He said nothing, but held his arms open and without thinking she stepped into his embrace. She closed her eyes – _his hold upon her steady and enduring_ – and reinforced by a lifetime of absent embraces from her father. _She trembled and attempted to still her heart._ She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to find Tom's, the incredible depths to his cobalt gateways visible now via their glassy sheen. Jed sighed and pulled back where they silently gave one another a once-over.

 _As sense of frantic urgency suddenly claimed Rachel then wherein she felt the essence of time (and control) slipping away. She peered down the hallway toward her father's room and attempted to prepare herself for what she might be met with – for her father was so young when she left (even though she didn't see it at the time) – back then all she saw was how opinionated and stubborn he was … and then she smiled with regret, fearing now that maybe they were more alike in temperament than she ever imagined._

Reluctantly, she turned away from the hallway – _her eyes skimmed the balance of the team_ – where it dawned on her that they would indeed be here for her, just as they were for Tom. For the Navy had taught her that much – _she was their shipmate_ – and she could see that truth now, etched in each of their faces. She might have realized it prior to this moment … but she didn't _feel_ it until now. She smiled and made to address them, for she still had the quarantine to consider.

"Captain …," she prompted softly then wherein Tom held her gaze. "I have a plan of how this might work … without me … and how the children can help …," she smiled, essentially asking him for the floor. He nodded in assent. "XO …," she prompted with an easy smile of her own.

Mike rose from his seat and smiled at her formality, "Dr. Scott."

Green, Burk, Cruz, Miller and Holbrooke followed suit and Harley came to stand alongside Jed. Rachel sighed, her mind quickly assessing the tasks at hand. She adjusted her thought process and began. "I'd like to ask your team to escort the children and Jed down to the campsite now to visit with the sickest people …," she requested. "Time is of the essence for them and I feel it would be prudent on our part not to squander the interval of the infectious period …," she elaborated.

She watched Mike's eyes flick to Tom's before he answered, "Absolutely."

"Colonel Holbrooke and Lieutenants Green and Cruz – _I would like you will follow the same protocol measures as the Subic quarantine_ – and these visits should be conducted inside tents to maximize the effectiveness of the cure …," she directed.

The men nodded in assent and smiled at the children. Jed draped his arm along Sam's shoulder. "Sounds like a good idea, right kids?" he prompted then. Sam looked to him and smiled, happy to once again feel useful.

"Phillip, I'm sure you wouldn't mind documenting their interactions …," she prompted then, her eyes pinned to his … unwavering and faceted with intrigue, always chocolate brown.

"It would be a sincere pleasure," he said smoothly wherein she thought briefly of just how far they'd traveled together on this journey … both professionally and personally. She found herself smiling at him.

Satisfied thus far, she moved on, "Once the volunteers arrive, I would like both teams to escort them through the campsite – _with so many people spreading the_ _cure now_ – a closed room won't be necessary, but I feel strongly they will need you there … the people on this island could become desperate and that might lead to trouble." Holbrooke and Green nodded. "Essentially, this exercise will replicate the courtyard scenario in St. Louis – _and because almost everyone in this room was there that day_ – I believe this can be accomplished quite easily if the refugees cooperate," she thought aloud.

"With the insurgents detained now, I don't foresee any hiccups," Mike stated then with a reassuring nod. "You can focus on what's happening here … we'll be all right," he encouraged, his expression softening.

Master Chief cleared his throat and turned to Tom, "Permission to speak freely, Sir."

Tom nodded and pressed his lips together, "Always."

"I think it's safe to say, Sir ... that the team will be fine without you there as well …," he expressed, his dark eyes, endless and wise. "So if you would prefer to remain here, with Dr. Scott … please do …," he stated without judgment, his eyes pinned to Rachel's now for a beat.

 _She smiled at Master Chief's intuitive thoughtfulness – for there was one thing she had learned about Russ Jeter, the man – and that was … he focused on the minutia. For he had a keen ability to evaluate a problem from all perspectives. Not only was he a fine man, but a fine Chaplain._

 _And of course he understood her desires now – for she indeed would have liked nothing more than to have Tom at her side – and this came from a purely selfish yearning. She wanted him there because she didn't do this without him … she needed him there. But perhaps even more important … she sensed her father was comfortable with him. And she desperately wanted that for him: comfort and peace of mind during his final hours. Tears funneled to her surface and she looked away from the group to avoid further scrutiny._

" _Dad … Rachel …,"_ came Ashley's voice then. Rachel turned to find her. "We'll be fine by ourselves … you know that right?" she prompted – _wherein suddenly she seemed far older and wiser than her years_ – though saving the inhabitants of a small island from a deadly virus could do that to a person.

Tom chortled, "I have no doubt." He clapped his father on his back. "You'll be with the best of the best," he declared with ease.

 _###_

They were alone now and sat perched on a sofa along the far wall, a large window behind them. The space appeared bigger than it was before and a humid breeze swirled against the bare flesh of her arms … her mind wild with implication. Cait emerged from her father's room then and swiftly made her way down the short hallway.

She pushed her glasses up, perching them upon her head, her abundant hair piled into a messy bun. "He's asleep … resting comfortably," she reported, her eyes alert, her aura calming.

Rachel smiled weakly. "Thank you, Cait … please sit …," she requested softly, searching her wise eyes for answers. "How do you think he'll react to my being here?" she wondered.

Cait made no move to answer and instead turned to Tom. Rachel turned and held his gaze. "His lucidity has been intermittent at best …," he surmised evenly.

"Yes … I presumed as much …," Rachel sighed, the grim assessment resonating now. She shook her head and pondered, "I keep trying to prepare myself for how he'll look, you know? He was young when I left home."

Tom draped his arm along her shoulders and suggested, "Let's go … _now_ … this way you can be alone with him while he sleeps, assess his health and … just be at his side without too much pressure."

 _Rachel kept her eyes trained on his and despite his sound advice … she hesitated, for she was still shocked and more than that, the last thing she wanted to do was upset her father. They had parted on terrible terms after many years of confused feelings of ill will and near hatred … on her part. And to this day, right here, right now, she still hadn't forgiven him for his instrumental part in her mother's death._

Cait rose and smiled. "If you need anything at all … I'll be here …," she assured with a warm smile.

"I'd like that," Rachel smiled and she and Tom stood. "Thank you … for everything … your hospitality is second to none," she complimented.

The older woman smiled and Rachel watched her cheeks turn pink. "I'm just doing my job," she breathed.

Tom chortled. "Well … job or not …," he began. "You've been an essential part of liberating this island … and that's something to be celebrated," he declared then.

"Yes … I suppose," she whispered, her eyes caught Rachel's. "Such a juxtaposition of life … and death resides here at the moment … I find it hard to separate the two," she said with a wistful air.

Rachel pressed her lips together and nodded though her watery gateways, "You've just described my life's work."

 _###_

Tom set his hand on the doorknob and looked to Rachel, "No matter what happens in there … I'm here." His eyes were shimmering with sincerity.

Rachel stepped closer to him and whispered, "Then I am truly blessed." Her voice shook between them. She smiled and declared, "No time like the present."

 _And so with her signal, Tom slowly pushed the door open and she carefully crossed over the threshold – the room was darker and cooler than the rest of the bungalow – and the décor, though bright and cheery, suddenly seemed out of place. She felt the balance of the room tip to its side with her arrival and wondered if her father would sense the change._

 _She stepped closer to his bedside and cast her eyes upon his frail form. An immense feeling of regret and sadness encapsulated her now … and she let cover her completely. For this was not the man she left behind … a mere shell of what he once was now. She blinked and set her waiting tears free … her jaw set, she breathed through her nose. Tom handed a tissue to her and she looked up to find him … her solace in all of this._

 _He smiled weakly and she turned into his waiting embrace. And it was here that she wept – a sense of déjà_ _vu_ _cloaking her now – for was it not just a few days ago that she mourned the loss of her mother, ensconced deep within Tom's welcoming embrace? Her safe place. Her refuge, solace, sanctuary. A place that suddenly felt like home._

 _Craning her neck, she peered into his soulful gateways and fell in love with him all over again. Her wondrous dreamscape popping into her head of its own volition – sun, sand, baby, desire, lust, love – all found on this beautiful island she now stood upon – with this incredible man, quite literally of her dreams. She blinked and closed her eyes again, privately wondering if this turn of events would mar her perspective. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't._

" _You're … a mirage …,"_ came her father's voice then: _measured, soft._

Rachel's eyes popped open and she was met with her father's pensive face. She and Tom rolled out of their embrace and turned to face him. He stared at her for a good long minute before his eyes closed again and then all was quiet, save for the waves breaking along the shoreline and the whirl of the fan above their heads. Rachel approached his bedside and sat down on the chair closest to him … he was at peace and for moment she wondered if he'd passed away. Thick tears welled.

" _He's just sleeping,"_ murmured Tom, his hands on her shoulders now.

She turned around and he sat down next to her. "I see that now … he's really far gone, Tom …," she murmured, looking over her shoulder again where she watched his chest for a moment … his breathing shallow. She sighed and turned back to Tom. "I just got spooked," she whispered.

"Bound to happen," he replied softly; he laced his fingers through hers. "He's been in and out of consciousness since we've come down off of that mountain," he explained, his voice soft and reassuring.

"To be expected … and he won't take pain meds?" she asked, her breathing hitched. Tom shook his head, _'no'_. Rachel sighed. "I keep playing different scenarios out in my head …," she whispered then, her eyes pinned to her lover's where she lost herself again and she wondered how on earth he did that to her. Made the world fall away. She sighed heavily and pushed her palm against his. "Will he be happy to see me?' she prompted quickly. "Or sad … or cross … or what if he throws me out?" she rambled on, voicing her deepest fears now.

 _Tom smiled and drew her hand up to his mouth – pulsing her flesh with a reassuring kiss – his eyes trained on hers. She exhaled – aching to retreat into his warm embrace again – but instead opened her eyes even wider to the truths that confounded her._

"He's too weak for all of that, Rachel …," he reasoned with her now, gently coaxing some sense into her.

A lifetime of regret cloaked her again and became heavier and heavier still, pressing down on her shoulders akin to a vise. "I suppose …," she exhaled through her resonating anxieties, still searching the depths of his eyes. "I suddenly I feel so … _wretched_ … as if my rationale for everything I ever lived for … has vanished and all that's left …," her voice trailed off and died in her throat. Fat tears pricked her eyes.

"Is what?" Tom breathed – _his eyes so close now she could see their brilliance_ – even in the fragmented light … she could see those tiny flecks of wisdom and strength she loved so much.

"The girl I once was …," she found herself answering. She blinked and a lone tear popped free. Tom succinctly flicked it away. "A long time ago …," her voice a mere whisper now. "The girl that watched her mother die … the one that eventually left her father behind – _the selfish, cruel, stubborn one_ –"

"You mean the girl that ended up saving all of humanity?" Tom interrupted, cupping her face with his free hand.

 _She closed her eyes on this truth and wanted so badly to disappear. For so much a part of her wanted to run and hide from the mistakes she made as a young woman … because she was different now – this virus had changed her, it taught her so much about life – for wedged in between all of its death and destruction … was a diamond … a silver lining that taught her how to live and love … and forgive and forget. Yes, her disenchanted childhood had propelled her to rush forward … but now all she wanted to do was go back. Go back to that last happy vacation here, on Flora Island … and be with them, her parents._

" _Rachel …,"_ Tom appealed to her then, his voice far away. "Look at me please," he whispered and she opened her eyes. "Remember … the life you led as a child drove you to become the woman you are … an empathetic fighter, a problem-solver … _everything_ that makes you so special …," he breathed.

She shook her head. "Tom …," she breathed, her palm still set against his.

He smiled. "And people make mistakes … _we all do_ …," he insisted, his eyes searching hers: _back and forth_.

"I know you're right …," she acquiesced. "And we've hashed this out before … I just don't know why it all feels so definite now – _like there's no going back_ – no time left to fix it …," she stated evenly but her heart raced on that sentiment: _no time left_.

"Maybe there isn't meant to be …," Tom pondered boldly then.

She held his gaze and dared herself to ask him, "No?"

He sighed heavily. "But if there is … and if your father comes around … and has a _single_ , _lucid_ moment with you … then you'll have the blessing of that moment …," he articulated with a small smile, his fingertips caressing hers now. "Because … all roads and paths have led us here, Rachel … to this island you dreamt of … and God knows, I've spent a lot of time here in deep thought about that …," he chortled.

Rachel smiled. "I know you have …," she nodded. "I wish I was here sooner," she breathed.

"Me too …," he replied softly. "But so far … all I can come up with is that in one way or another – _we've piloted this course,_ you _and I_ – and when you commandeered the Nathan James …," he smiled weakly, but she could see the layers of emotion beneath that statement. "Our paths intersected … and everything changed … _for us_ … you and I…," he breathed, his faceted gateways glassy now, the pain of their losses etched within.

 _Tears flooded her eyes then and she blinked without hesitation – willfully setting them free – allowing her pain and sorrow to cascade easily down her face now as she stared at him, the same way he stared back at her: with unbridled awe and wonder and intrinsic love. Unwilling to let the moment go, she fastened her eyes to his now – this man she loved so fully – where all she suddenly heard and felt were the lasting effect of his words, 'you and I', and the fire smoldering deep within her heart._

"You and I ...," she repeated and felt a smile etch along her face.

Tom nodded in assent and asked of her, "What more do we need?"

"Nothing more," she answered, lost within his calming aura.

Tom stood then and she rose to her feet with him. "Come here," he murmured, drawing her near.

 _Where he enveloped her in his arms, her eyes closed tight where she became lost in the fluid sea of their energy – swaying inside the sanctuary of his embrace – his chin pressed to her halo, his hands splayed against her back, her cheek set over his heart where they stayed perfectly aligned and still and focused … what more did they need, but one another? She was convinced … not much more. Until …_

" _I was right ...… you're a mirage, Captain …... and that's my Rachel you're holding …,"_ came her father's delicate voice.

 ** _To be continued …_**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 21**

"Oh my …," breathed Rachel as she turned out of Tom's embrace and came to lean over her father. "Papa …," she whispered her childhood endearment for him.

"It really is you …," he whispered, his brown eyes tracking hers now … a small spark of wonder set within.

"It is …," she confirmed. "Are you in pain?" she wondered, her clinical mind in high gear as she slid her hand into his: _oddly comforting and familiar, even now._

He shook his head, _'no'_ and stared at her and she at him for a long moment – _his mouth turned up and into a slight smile_ – his glassy eyes still sparkling against the filtered light. "He's right you know …," he whispered, his eyes darting up to Tom. "You have been … and always will be … the maker of your own destiny …," he rasped, searching her eyes. "We all are that … unto ourselves …," he prophesized.

Rachel felt the world fall away. "You've been listening to us …," she breathed with wonderment, a statement of fact more than a question. He smiled weakly. And she leaned into him wherein every conflicted feeling she ever had for him resulted in an emergent need to unburden herself, in the very manner in which a child does with a father. "I'm … I apologize for leaving home the way I did … I was always _so_ angry with you after everything …," she said quickly, her eyes fixed to his: _clear, brown, like a mirror to her own._

He blinked slowly and she watched as his tiny tears became trapped in his eyelashes. He blinked again and inhaled sharply before he whispered, "But it was I who let you go that way." He sighed heavily and squeezed her hand, his touch was warm. "I should have fought harder … to be the father you needed … but … regrettably …," he sighed and his voice trailed off. "Daughter, we cannot change the past … for that's an _impossible_ dream to chase …," he counseled evenly.

"Yes it is …," Rachel agreed, her eyes pinned to his so tenaciously now that she remembered precisely how it was between them – _for the sun rose and set in him and she admired him so_ – until the rest of it happened.

He shook his head and smiled weakly. "I let it unfold … tested fate … and we both know the outcome …," he surmised evenly … quietly acknowledging their mutual heartbreak.

 _Rachel nodded in assent and watched him exhale heavily before he closed his eyes again, releasing as small set of tears as he did. Fear consumed her and she set her free hand upon his heart and felt the faint pulse of his muscle beat against her palm. Turning around, she quickly found Tom's eyes and held him steady there – though her heart raced and her mind went blank – devoid of all reasonable thought._

Tom inched closer and draped his arm along Rachel's shoulders. He encouraged, "I think he's resting again."

Rachel released a breath of air she didn't realize she'd trapped inside, cleansing her lungs now, she exhaled and concurred, "His heart is beating … it's faint … barely there at all."

" _Do you know something?"_ came her father's gruff voice just then.

Rachel turned around, every lucid moment a gift now. "Papa …," her throat constricted.

He blinked and nodded and she felt again like the girl she once was, miles apart from him in intellect and spiritual awareness. He looked beyond her to Tom and then back to her and smiled. "I always knew … from the moment you were born … _you were destined for greatness_ …," he breathed and then looked to Tom. "Fathers know these things … don't we Captain …," he rambled on, his eyes vacillating.

"We do …," agreed Tom; his baritone hung in the thick air.

"Well …," Rachel exhaled, her eyes fixed to her father's again – _the reality of their encounter resonating now_ – wherein she started to believe that maybe the change in their destinies was not simply a twist of fate … but rather, meant to be.

"Captain Chandler … is correct …," her father declared, his breathing labored now. "Rachel … you are who you are …," he exhaled. "Don't negate that, my daughter ….…," he sighed heavily; his eyes dipped shut again.

 _Bewildered, Rachel set her hand upon his heart again and held her breath, feeling for that faint movement – a flicker, a small pulse – to ensure he was still with them. Relieved, she sighed and scrutinized his face – he looked more at peace – for he had entered another sleep cycle. Turning back to Tom, her mind went wild with a barrage of conflicting thoughts._

"Well, he didn't throw me out," was the first thing out of her mouth.

Tom chuckled and reached for her. "You're all right …," he smiled, setting his hand along her cheek. He smoothed her flyaway tendrils from her face and admired her, she tilted her head into his palm.

"I am," she agreed with a smile that mirrored his. "He knows you have children …," she whispered then.

"He does … we've spoken at length about life in general terms," Tom sighed. "He mostly went on and on about you though … and I was _riveted_ …," he husked with a reflective smile, his endless suddenly glassy.

Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, she held his gaze while her heart shimmied somewhere low and deep. "Thank you …," she blinked hastily. "For this … for these moments … for all of it …," she whispered thickly, fastening her glassy eyes to his, this man who had become … _everything_ to her.

 _###_

 _As time slowly ticked forward, their holding pattern became a tenuous arrangement, one strung together by her father's brief, lucid moments._

 _Rachel exhaled now and turned away from Tom and Mike whom were discussing the progress of the quarantine. She listened with half an ear now while she rested her eyes on her father's sleeping form. She focused intensely and waited for the rise and fall of his chest and accepted, once again, that her time was running out._

 _But as fate would have it – she was able to savor his lucid moments – and therein everything she ever wanted to say to her father … had been said. She was sorry and so was he. She lived a life wondering how he was … and he did the same of her._

 _Anger and misunderstanding still percolated under the surface of everything though – but as this virus had taught her, life was full of the unexpected – and so she would take those small blessings now and live in the moment, even this … unexpected one. Because within hours, he surely would be gone from this earth. And she certainly did not want to live with regret. For to live that way – as the world was now – would be foolish._

Mike pushed his chair back and jarred Rachel from her thoughts. He smiled at her, "The quarantine is something else … I can only imagine what you encountered on Subic Bay."

Rachel nodded, "Harley has hundreds of photos, you know." She smiled wistfully. "We documented the progress of five patients and their families … the results of the process are striking when studied up close."

"I bet," he answered.

"It's been a good mission so far … despite everything …," Tom added thoughtfully.

Rachel smiled at him and then peeked at her father again … his chest rose and fell. _Up and down._ She turned back to the men. "By now you could observe those changes yourself down at the camp," she redirected. "You could choose to find someone that took your eye earlier on … maybe a very sick child … or someone you connected with …...," her voice trailed off and she looked down and away for a beat. Emotion clogged her throat.

"I think I will do that," Mike replied, his serious eyes, softening. "This stuff is good for the soul, you know …," he said then. "Somehow … it … _validates_ everything …," he added softly.

 _Rachel nodded, and even though Mike was smiling, she knew there was a layer of pervasive sadness embedded deep within him that would likely be there for all time. She had noticed the same layer in Tom's bedrock and therein, her heart fissured ever so slightly. She thought of Mike's boy … and of his missing family and her heart sank akin to anchor. She thought Darien and felt a pang of deep regret._

She blinked her emotions back and away from her forefront. "It does do that … at times … there's certainly and ebb and flow to how all of this makes me feel …," she answered.

 _She turned and held Tom's gaze wherein she thought of Neils and what she did to him and her heart arrested slightly. She didn't say anything more and she didn't have to – for her lover was well aware that she was just on outskirts of that dark place – this place where their stalemate over Neils still existed … this idea of unrest that could linger between them if either of them let it. She inhaled sharply and turned back to her father where she silently wondered what he might have to say about her taking the life of a man, however egregious he was, to save millions more. Small tears filled her eyes._

" _You shouldn't do that …,"_ came Tom's voice then: _a beacon, a clarion call_. She turned to face him. "Think of Neils …," he elaborated, his voice low. "Relive the past …," he muttered – _his blue eyes clear and certain, no storm brewing out at sea_ – he stared at her now, trying to impress upon her to once again live in the present.

Mike chuckled, "Somehow that feels like a lifetime ago already."

"It does …," she agreed, pushing her nonsensical thoughts at bay, for now.

Back to business, Mike rose and made to take his leave, "I'll report in again or have Master Chief come up – _but as nation-building exercises go_ – this is one heck of an accomplishment."

"Agreed," Tom said as he stood to join Mike. Rachel rose as well and smiled at them both. "Should also be just a matter of time before Bautista's communications team locks that signal in again … then we'll touch base with Michener … and make it all official."

"I'd like nothing more," Mike nodded in assent and slipped out of the room.

The door closed and she glanced at her father … still sleeping … still waiting … still breathing. Tom came to stand behind her. He set his hand upon her shoulder just above her exit wound and traced his fingertips along her neck. Her heart fluttered in response.

" _We can't do that … live in the past … think of what we could have done differently … what might have happened if one thing had changed … or where we might be now if it had …,"_ he reasoned, his voice calm and reflective and sad and laden with truth. She shivered in response, his hot breath breezing across her neck. She closed her eyes and her ailing father fell away with the rest of the world. _"How are you healing?"_ he wondered, swiftly changing the subject, her pain waning under his touch.

She leaned into his welcoming heat and turned inside of his embrace where she craned her neck up and found his eyes, "Better … though stress makes it worse."

Tom cupped her face in capable hands and held her there. "Life won't always be made of so much stress," he whispered, brushing his nose against hers.

"No …," she whispered her reply, so lost within his endless gaze that all she suddenly saw was him until her eyes became glassy and she blinked, setting her tears free.

Tom smoothed them off of her cheeks before he turned her chin up and brushed his lips against hers, soft and quick. "I'm here … with you … and I wouldn't want to change that outcome …," he husked. Her pulse quickened and she kissed him again, her body tethered to his now wherein she allowed those lingering stresses to ebb, if only for a moment.

" _I see now … you're a couple … very connected … and devoted to one another …,"_ came her father's gentle voice.

Rachel's small gasp hung in the air as they turned to him – _her cheeks flushed_ – her heart racing as she answered, "We are."

She and Tom approached his bed and sat down together. Her father smiled as if looking at a beautiful portrait and deemed, "You care deeply for one another."

"We do," Tom smiled, drawing Rachel near.

"This is a very … _exultant_ revelation …," the Reverend breathed, his brown eyes gassy now. "To know, daughter … that you will be fulfilled in life … is a father's hope … and dream …," he whispered.

 _###_

 _Her father was resting again and Rachel found herself alone with him as Tom had stepped out to check on the children and to ask Russ to come up to the bungalow for a debrief on the quarantine … and to be there with them in a spiritual capacity during her father's final hours._

 _She sat near his bedside, but had positioned herself next to the window now. For at his insistence, she'd drawn the darker curtain back so that the room was now illuminated by the afternoon sun … and hues of orange and deep yellow blushed the walls and enlivened the sanctuary just enough to make it all bearable. Holding herself steady now, she waited for that familiar dull ache to move through her wounds, back and forth it went._

 _Sighing, she turned and opened the window some more just in time for a fragrant breeze to funnel through the opening – the tropical essence of the island bestowing renewed energy upon the space – and alighting the mood a bit more as it traveled. Craning her neck up, she paused and watched the trees and their free-form movement as they danced in the wind high above them. A knock at the door pulled her from her reverie._

She rose to answer it and smiled when Cait appeared, "I thought you might like something to refresh yourself …," she announced softly, carrying a tray laden with a variety of beverages and along with a colorful fruit salad.

"Cait … thank you," Rachel greeted. The older woman set the tray down on the table in the corner. "Please tell me you've spent some time down at the quarantine," she said then, her clinical mind checking on her.

"I just spent a couple of hours down there, helping where I can … it's … unreal, this cure of yours …," she said, her eyes faceted with unshed tears. "Do you think that's enough time ... for a healthy person?" she wondered.

"I do …," Rachel smiled.

Cait smiled too. "I'll probably head down there again soon … I've never seen it this way, in all my years … so populated," she sighed, her melodic voice twirling in the air. "Can I pour some tea for you?" she asked.

Rachel smiled, "I'd like that … and your company, if time permits." The older woman nodded in assent. Rachel came to stand alongside her as she poured the tea from a porcelain pot, _one, two, three_ tea leaves swooshed into her cup and she smiled. "Your tea is exquisite," she praised.

"I'm happy to know that," Cait answered, offering the cup and saucer to Rachel. "I've been growing and drying my own leaves for years … in part for my guests and even in larger part for myself …," she smirked.

"I've visited this island with parents … when I was girl … and it was the finest time in my life," Rachel declared suddenly, she took a small sip of the elixir: _smooth and perfect._

Cait smiled, "Captain Chandler mentioned that actually." And then she sighed. "You know … he didn't disclose anything to me … about you and this man who turned out to be your father … but I figured it out," she whispered, looking over the Reverend's sleeping form.

Rachel pressed her lips together, "How so?"

Cait smiled again. "It was more than your surname," she began. "For even without that commonality, I would have known – _it was more a matter of how they spoke of you_ – independently of course …," she recollected softly.

"Of course …," Rachel whispered, appreciating Tom's willingness to protect her.

Cait smiled as she went on. "There was a shared light in their eyes – _this look of absolute awe and wonder_ – and it was the same on both of their faces …," she nodded. "You're revered by them … and add to that – _the rest of the free world_ – and well, I don't know … perhaps, in some strange way … it all made sense to me, that you would both end up here …," she concluded, her voice trailing off and into the breeze.

Rachel sighed and then took another sip of her tepid tea. "I have been estranged from my father for many years now," she acknowledged candidly. "But what an incredible turn of events – _just when I thought this virus and its outcomes would no longer surprise me_ – it yields another life lesson for me … on this island, so near and dear to my heart … and my dreams …," she whispered.

Cait set her hand upon Rachel's forearm. "No matter the impetus – _I'm glad you've found your way back_ – and that you've been bestowed this chance to live these moments _here_ and make those timeworn dreams come true …," Cait replied softly.

 _Rachel smiled and held Cait's gaze – believing now that truer statements were never spoken – for this mission began as a dream and if she was blessed enough, it would end with one too._

 _Appreciating the lull in conversation, Rachel sipped her tea again – allowing it to warm her from the inside out as she paused to cherish the unique flavor – somewhere in between a rooibos and a chamomile with accents of lavender and something else she couldn't put her finger on. 'Delightful' was the singular term that came to mind._

 _The women sighed in tandem then and then all was quiet for a moment as both turned toward the Reverend and looked on as he rested still … with peace and quietude. Heavy footsteps in the hallway redirected their attention to the doorway which creaked open._

Tom smiled as he stepped into the space followed by Russ Jeter. "Ladies …," he greeted smoothly; their large statures suddenly crowding the space.

"Gentlemen," Cait returned the sentiment.

Rachel smiled. "Have you brought the children back up?" she wondered. "How are they? And the quarantine?" her inquiries spilling forth.

"The kids are better than all right and have come back up to rest," he answered, his eyes fixed on hers: _as blue and calm as the deep sea._

"Would you care for anything else?" Cait prompted then. "I've put a pitcher of cold water there as well … for hydration … and of course, you can let me know what else you might need," she went on.

Rachel sighed and turned to her, "Everything is so much better, Cait … just because you're here."

The older woman pressed her lips together and held Rachel's gaze until it seemed she needed to look away, for Rachel understood Cait and her need to feel useful. She cleared her throat and addressed Tom, "I'll prepare something special for the children … and your team, if you like."

"Something special from you will indeed be a surprise and very much appreciated," Tom replied with sincerity.

The careworn woman departed then and closed the door behind her. "She's something else," Tom asserted then.

"Indeed she is …," agreed Russ.

 _###_

 _Having situated themselves around the small table near the window, Tom and Russ looked on at Rachel while she paced. For they were in deep discussion regarding the quarantine, which was presented with only one problem so far … the extremely infirmed – specifically several of the elderly – were not catching the infectious cure as quickly as needed to overcome their advanced viral symptoms._

"I just don't want to lose _anyone_ …," Rachel whispered, her heart racing now. "Not a single person on this island," she insisted. "It's critical … not only for the propaganda of this thing … but for these people and their spirits, everything is so … depleted …," she incited passionately as she paced, her voice a softer octave than usual.

"We agree, of course …," Russ answered smoothly. "I fear though, Dr. Scott … there are two or three of the elderly patients that may be too far gone …," he determined carefully. He glanced at her father and lowered his voice, "They are very frail … and weak."

 _Rachel followed Russ's gaze and looked on at her father's sleeping form, so badly wishing to walk out of this room now and rush down to the camp and do something! She sighed and began to pace again. The men watched her navigate around her circuit now – their eyes pinned to her every move – she felt like a caged tiger waiting to be fed._

The energy in the air was suddenly stifling … suffocating even. She pushed her hair off of her face and paused to catch her breath before the open window where she peered outside – _transfixed by the palm trees as they danced in the ocean breeze_ – while she took meaningful deep breaths and agonized over a solution … until the tip of a bungalow caught her eye … it was deeper into the island, at a higher elevation.

She turned back to Tom and Russ and said with urgency, "We have to relocate these people! I believe the tent is simply filtering too much air through its flaps … what they need is a _traditional_ quarantine. A closed space …," she determined, her eyes wild.

"But where? This place is at capacity," Tom stated, his eyes intense.

"There," she pointed just outside. The men joined her at the window. "We need to ask Cait about the status of that bungalow …," she directed.

"That's Bautista's home base," Tom reported in. "He's got his senior officers positioned there, himself included," he explained. "I'll speak with him … if not, we'll handle it," he assured her.

"Yes …," Rachel exhaled, for time was of the essence. "Bautista's a reasonable man – _he'll do what's right_ – I'm sure of it …," she asserted.

" _Reasonable men … … are often altruistic men …,"_ came her father's raspy interjection just then.

The trio turned their attention to the ailing man and Rachel rushed to his side. "Do you really believe that?" she asked of him then.

"I do …," he answered, setting his soft hand over hers and then he looked up to Tom and then to Russ.

"Papa, do you remember Russ Jeter … he is the Master Chief of the Nathan James, Tom's Navy ship … where he is also the esteemed Chaplain," she presented.

"I do … remember … the mudslides …," he smiled kindly. "And I'm well aware that those titles suit you …," he went on.

Russ smiled and sat down next to Rachel. "Well … when it comes down to it … we're all part of the same team," Russ said smoothly, his voice reflective.

The old man smiled and observed, "You are a very peaceful man."

If Russ Jeter was taken aback, he didn't show it. He simply smiled and answered with humility, "I do strive for peace … but like most, I have my downfalls … my weaknesses."

 _Rachel smiled at his candor, for she admired Russ and his majestic and noble way of seeing all sides of a situation – even this one – a chance meeting between an estranged father and daughter where time had run out and there was no means for a right to correct a wrong or vice-versa._

"Yes … downfalls …," her father breathed, holding her gaze. "I have had many …," he acknowledged. "Although, aren't we all imperfect beings?" he pondered, a sparkle in his eyes now.

"I suppose we are …," Russ contemplated simply.

Her father smiled and turned his attention back to Rachel then and she tilted her head, half expecting him to nod off again. But he didn't. Instead he leaned in closer and whispered, "I've been listening to the conversations in this room for a long while it seems … and now I believe … I finally understand."

"Understand what?" Rachel prompted.

 _She watched her father with bated breath now as his eyes became darker and then glassy all at once. He pressed his dry lips into a thin line and moved through his apparent pain. Her shoulder reacted to his stressors, poking and prodding her now at her weakest point while he gathered his strength._

"I can see now … you've been working very hard … so hard … it seems you're some kind of miracle worker …," he asserted slowly, his voice barely audible.

Rachel hesitated and felt Tom's presence as he came to stand behind her. He set his palm on her injured shoulder – _the weight of his hand_ – just enough to keep her in her seat. She felt Jeter's eyes rest upon her wherein she began to negate her father, "Well, I _alone_ am not –"

But her father would have none of that it seemed. "Yes … it's all so clear …," he began again and turned to face Tom where he addressed him directly. "She's a missionary ... my Rachel, isn't she …," he exhaled, breathing new meaning into this philosophy he'd lived his entire life by.

Tom smoothed his hand along her exit wound, but it was Russ who answered, his voice stacked as he spoke. "Yes … she most definitely is, Reverend … for she happens to be a savior to the world at large …," he said softly.

"Yes … she is …," her father declared.

Rachel looked on as Russ nodded in agreement and blinked quickly, suppressing his emotions as he spoke, "In fact … she saved all of us on the Nathan James when we had no hope – _and most of the rest of the world too_ – when we became carriers of a cure that was spread by simple human compassion … _no_ medical intervention."

"None at all? No medicine …," her father speculated, somewhat awestruck now as he turned and stared at her.

"No … just science … and her brilliant mind … and her unfortunate childhood …," Tom stated clearly, his thumb and pointer finger resting along the neckline of her shirt now.

 _And it was on that sentiment that the frail man broke down and cried and cried, for was that not the crux of their stalemate over her mother's death? An opposition to drugs? Fear of medical intervention? Archaic beliefs? The power of spiritual versus scientific breakthroughs?_

 _Unable and unwilling to look away from him now, Rachel inched forward and set her hand upon his face – she felt his cheek bone protrude against her palm – and the clammy sheen to his flesh felt familiar, but not in a good way … for he was very near death now._

 _Within this certainty, she felt queasy and swallowed hard – wherein feral panic ensued – and it seemed as if the floor might disappear from beneath her feet. Her exit wound pricked responsively at her and then her pulse quickened._

Regardless, she knew this was it. She knew this was her chance. Fighting her own tears, she managed to say only this, "No medical intervention, Papa … _none_ … and whilst I worked on that breakthrough of my science … _virology_ … alone in my lab on the Nathan James with the world at large waiting for a cure to this awful virus … I thought of my mother and her untimely death the _entire_ time."

 _Her father shook his head and marveled at her still and she could tell … she'd won! She could tell he finally understood her and everything that made her tick. She leaned back and into Tom's touch, his hand capping her injured shoulder. She looked up to him and found his steady, all-seeing gateways – where she lost herself for a beat as he silently pledged to her everything she needed to know – that with the surety of him by her side … she would indeed survive everything that would come next._

 _And it was on this thought that Russ Jeter set his hand upon her forearm and akin a true steel beam, he held her up too. And deep within this coveted safe place – wedged between two of her shipmates –Rachel released the balance of her tears and let them flow without shame or hesitation._

Gathering her senses, she leaned forward again and whispered her plea. "Let me give you some morphine, Papa … please … just for your pain …," she beseeched of him now, _again_ … her heart twisted.

"No …," he told her firmly, his breathing labored, stacked and intermittent at best. "Let's not waste it … this moment together," he exhaled, pushing his chest out. "If you give me medicine … if you dull my senses … I will lose the last of myself …," he breathed, smoothing his hand across hers. "And I don't want that … not yet."

His eyes dipped shut then and another round of desperation cloaked Rachel. She frantically looked to Tom. "My stethoscope," she mumbled.

She swallowed hard and he handed it to her. She donned the earpieces and pressed the scope to her father's chest, her eyes pinned to his. _Closed._ His face relaxed once more. Anxiously, she listened for his muscle _– 'please, please, please'_ – she willed him to breathe another breath and then just like that … his eyes popped open and she pulled the earpieces down. He tugged on her hand and whispered into her ear, his voice so very soft now.

" _I must say this now, my dear daughter … for I must close my eyes … they are so very, very heavy …," he breathed. "And should they not open again … you must know now … and remember … how madly I loved you … and your mother … for all time and for the rest of my days … including this one ….,"_

And then … just like that … he exhaled his last breath wherein it breezed across Rachel's ear, the power of its finality zipping up and down her spine as it traveled. _He was gone._ The hairs on the back of her neck bristled and her gasp of anguish filled the small, humid room … this unexpected asylum from the world all around them. On this island he loved so much where he was reunited with his long, lost daughter … who overcame her childhood woes and evolved into a resolute, impassioned scientist who ended up saving the free world … and he lived to hear about it.

" _He will rest in peace,"_ came Russ's smooth, comforting declaration.

Rachel wiped the hot tears from her face and found consolation deep within the wisdom of his calming aura, "I do hope so."

 _Swiftly, she rose from her seat and retreated into Tom's familiar embrace – her home away from home – where he absorbed her pain and sorrow without even trying. Her ear pressed to his heart, his hand smoothing her hair down, down. She heard the door open and close and she knew they were truly alone now … connected once again and for all time. Where he held her firm and strong and still while she wept and wept and silently released a lifetime of awful, hateful and hurtful sentiments, directed toward this man, whom she also loved … dearly._

Seeking refuge in Tom now, she looked up and into his eyes – _where_ _she privately checked on him_ – observing now as the last of his stresses had indeed faded with her father's passing. She sighed and met his unwavering gaze and became somewhat transfixed – _for he was also an altruistic and reasonable man_ – and she realized that she would forever feel safe in his arms. She reached up and slid her hand along the side of his skull, the short silver hairs smooth and soft … and familiar.

She blinked and wondered, "Was it really meant to be?"

She watched a smile reach his eyes as he moved his hand to cradle her skull in turn. "I believe so," he answered and she relaxed into his touch.

 _And there they stood and embraced one another, once again contemplating life and death … and second … and even first chances. For Cait was indeed correct, there was certainly a juxtaposition of life and death on this island … a yin with a matching yang – two halves that made one whole when joined together – whether separated or not, just like she and her father happened to be: missionaries to the world at large._

 _###_

A short while later, Rachel and Tom emerged from her father's room where she was met by the team, including Bautista – _where each condolence was meaningful_ – each touch, heartfelt … each smile of understanding, encouraging. And every hug from the children: _a net of safety._

 _Lost and quite numb, she soon became more of an observer to the room than a participant. She sat on a small sofa and sipped her tea and smiled with a small nod of her head when she thought it necessary … but all she really wanted to do was finish this day the way she imagined she would have … prior to her arrival._

 _She sighed deeply into her haze and peered outside the window, the sky a misty blue, the birds calling to one another. She heard the term 'burial' and realized that Tom, Bautista, Russ, Jed and Mike were looking at her._

"My apologies … you were saying …," she smiled weakly, her cheeks heated. Tom smiled and tilted his head. "Please … continue …," she asserted. She took another small sip of her tea.

Tom cleared his throat. "Prior to your arrival … your father requested a burial at sea …," he explained, his words measured, his tone, soft and reassuring.

Rachel blinked and felt tears form, she nodded in assent, but turned to Bautista, "And this is permissible?"

"Yes … of course, my friend …," the General answered thoughtfully, his dark eyes calm and unencumbered.

"Any captain of any ship … may inter a body to the sea … for she belongs to no man in her entirety …," Tom added then, his words slow and methodical.

Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and volleyed between Russ and Tom, "And you will officiate together?"

"We will …," Tom answered. "If you would like to go in this direction … we're thinking first light will be best …," he explained.

A semblance of relief passed over Rachel then because in truth … she hadn't known what to do next. She smiled and deemed, "All right then."

 _And with her approval came a bustle of new activity – for there was his body to prepare – which would be left up to Green, Burk, Miller and Cruz wherein standard US Navy protocols would be followed. Her heart raced; her mind immediately fell upon Cossetti and Walker and Lynn and Chung and Ravit Bivas … to name a few unforgettable people, all entombed under Tom and Russ and Mike's watchful eyes. Their ceremony, bold and meaningful and well-matched for the shipmates they honored._

Harley sat down next to her then and pushed his shoulder against hers. He smiled weakly and so did she. "Would you like me to photograph the burial?" he wondered tentatively.

She blinked and hesitated, "We were at odds … for my entire adult life." She shook her head. "Part of me thinks to tell you … _'yes'_ … but a deeper, more truthful part of myself feels _so_ ambiguous … as if I should just … _liberate_ myself instead …," she exhaled, searching his serious eyes for answers.

He smiled broadly and said, "Well, I vote for liberation."

"And that doesn't surprise me," she deadpanned.

He chuckled and smoothed his sandy brown hair away from his brow and said, "I'll do whatever you want, Rachel … but perhaps I should shoot the photos and you can decide … _later_ if you want them." She inhaled sharply and blinked. "No sense in living with regret … if you don't have to …," he reasoned with her now.

"Not today there isn't …," she replied softly.

Ashley's melodic giggle drew her attention then and she looked to the girl and her sweet brother as they sat on the far side of the space – _eyes fixed to a laptop screen_ – their faces sweet, their innocence even sweeter.

" _They're watching Tom and Jerry,"_ came Phillip's voice then. Rachel turned to him. "I asked the tech guy at the Subic quarantine to let me burn a copy," he explained.

"They look happy … and well," she observed, a smile on her face as she watched Sam, his eyes bright with anticipation _._

"They _are_ happy …," Phillip assured.

 _###_

With the space almost cleared out now, Rachel sat alongside Tom, his arm draped behind her on the sofa. Jed was perched at her other side – _his doting eyes on Ashley and Sam_ – presently in the kitchen with Cait and Phillip. The foursome – _grinning at one another while they worked_ – their playful energy, contagious. She smiled and peeked outside, the sky, blushed pink now.

"I'd like to take the children for a short walk down at the beach … I feel a desperate need for some fresh air …," she said then.

Tom smiled, "That sounds like a fine idea."

"Jed … would you care to join us? We could watch the sunset …," she smiled.

"Yes … I think I will," he answered softly.

Tom smiled broadly and looked to the kitchen, "Let me see if I can get that motley crew in there to take a break."

 _###_

 _She stood on the porch now and fixed her eyes on the horizon. The sea air funneled up from the beach and swirled around the bungalow. She inhaled sharply and allowed the organic brine to cleanse her lungs. The air was humid and thick and clung to her skin. The sun was big and bright and fat and orange. The tide was low and palm fronds waved overhead … and there inside that moment … alone … and on Flora Island … Rachel finally felt at peace … and precisely right where she was meant to be._

The door opened behind her and she turned to see Ashley and Sam emerge with Cait. "See this box here, just take your shoes off … and leave them inside," she instructed. Ashley smiled and she and Sam sat down on the top step and got to work on their laces. Tom, Phillip and Jed emerged just then. "Shoes off, gentlemen," she stated evenly, pointing to the box.

The trio didn't argue, for they wouldn't dare. Rachel smirked and removed her boots. Listening now to the men and their idle chatter as they did the same. The porch was covered with a layer of fine sand she didn't realize was there at all. The wood was damp and cool against the soles of her feet. She dropped her boots into the box and leaned down, careful of her shoulder, she rolled her jeans up, _once, twice_. Ashley and Sam smiled broadly.

"Are you ready?" Ashley asked of her then, her serious eyes sparkling.

"I am …," she answered, her eyes dancing with the girl's. She turned to the balance of the group, pleasantly surprised to find that Tom had removed his boots and cuffed his pants. "Shall we?" she asked of him.

"We shall …," he smiled and Sam slipped his hand into his.

Rachel draped her arm around Ashley's shoulders and Jed and Phillip headed toward the beach, already engrossed in conversation. Turning back, she hesitated on the last step and looked to Cait. "Care to join us?" she prompted, silently checking on her … searching for signs of duress.

Cait smiled, "You go ahead." She inhaled sharply and added, "If you walk about ten minutes away from here along the shoreline – _the opposite direction of the camp_ – you'll come across a small set of boulders … a fantastic locale to see the sunset."

 _###_

 _With bated breath, Rachel watched the children frolic ahead, their toes skimming the tepid water, their innocent display of unfettered happiness so genuine it almost hurt to watch them. Everything around her was at peace … aligned and simply gorgeous. The moon, already reflecting off of the sun, was prominent and bright. The sand was warm from the day's sun, and became slightly cooler and damp as they moved closer to the shoreline._

 _She turned to Tom and watched him for a long quiet moment while they walked on – always a sea Captain – his eyes were fastened to the horizon, while he intermittently checked on the children. His knitted brow, finally relaxed wherein he suddenly looked far younger … and she absentmindedly wondered if this was how he looked underneath all of his layers – before the Navy – if there ever was such a time._

He turned to her suddenly and flirted, "Like what you see?"

She smirked at his boyish charm. "Yes … you caught me checking on you …," she answered as they walked on.

He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed, a perfect fit. "I'm all right," he replied. "How do you feel?" he asked of her then.

She hesitated, her eyes fastened to the set of boulders Cait mentioned. She watched Sam clamber up the smallest one. "I feel … exactly how I wanted to feel all day … _safe_ … happy … reunited with you … and the children …," she whispered into the wind. Tears pricked at her eyes. "The radio silence …," she breathed. "It was almost too much …," she exhaled, her chest tight as she thought about their separation.

 _Tom nodded in assent, his eyes glassy now too wherein she wondered what he was thinking. He didn't say anything though and therein she knew he shared her sentiment. It was almost … too much. She smiled weakly and so did he, resetting their course as he did, he directed them now toward the ocean. A small wave rolled in and tickled their feet – the sublime lukewarm water – naturally resetting their ions, a panacea of sorts for all that was wrong in the world._

 _She closed her eyes and listened. The wind rustled through the palm fronds. And Sam's squeal of happiness was in perfect harmony with the ebb and flow of the sea. And Rachel was at peace. Her lover's hand stroking hers. His presence in her life … a true gift to her in triplicate: mind, body and spirit. And so deep within this finite, yet hazy moment of euphoria – Rachel realized the origination of her dream – the beginning of her destiny: this life yet lived with Tom._

 _And therein, she saw it all again, deep within her mind's eye – sun, sand, lust, baby, happiness, peace, tranquility – and then she thought of her father and of his words: 'you have been … and always will be … the maker of your own destiny'._

And on that memory, she opened her eyes and found Tom right where she left him. "I've wanted this dream of a moment alone with you … at sunset … on this island … for as long as I can remember …," she whispered thickly, her eyes searching his _._

"Hmm … a dream come true …," he smiled, turning to face her, he drew her near and held her steady. "The first of many," he whispered, setting his forehead against hers.

Toe-to-toe now, she wrapped her good arm around his waist and answered, "Despite everything in between … yes." Craning her neck up, she held his gaze and whispered, "Kiss me."

 _And so he did as she requested. He kissed her in such a way that he stole her last breath, her heart trumpeting now to keep up with him and everything he did to her. For at the core of his being, he effortlessly absorbed her lingering sorrows while she did the same for him. Their union: succinct, connected, balanced and everything she ever wanted for them._

 _For they silently gave of themselves, freely and without abandon now – on this precipice of a new beginning – as the tropical sun did indeed set and the waves systematically danced over their toes and the children became ever so quiet, no doubt in awe of the sherbet-colored sky they stood beneath … where they realized that first dream inside of a dream inside of a dream … yet lived._

 ** _To be continued …_**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 22**

"Everything considered, Mr. President …," Bautista asserted. "I believe our joint mission has been a success … and this second quarantine has been a sight to see …," he added. "Dr. Scott is truly a missionary to the people here ... did you know they call her a saint?" he said with deep reverence.

" _Dr. Scott is in a class unto herself,"_ came Michener's reply. _"One meeting with her and her capabilities are apparent …,"_ he reflected. _"And indeed … our teams have worked well together,"_ he said with diplomacy.

 _Tom nodded in assent from his seat at the table where they were presently situated in Bautista's bungalow – the air was balmy, though cooler, the ceiling fans providing just enough movement to create a much needed breeze. Listening with half of an ear now, he quietly checked on his team, seemingly no worse for the wear after preparing Reverend Scott's body for his interment in the morning – Green, Burk, Cruz and Miller – were at ease, though he would be remiss if he didn't think the assignment had aged them somewhat._

 _Regardless, he admired these young men and made a mental note to say as much to them when the time was right. Looking away from them now, he turned to find Mike, Russ and Dan quietly observing him and therein he smiled tightly, reassuring them without words: he was fine. It was an unexpected strenuous day … but he was all right._

Bautista went on, "Yes … it has been a very interesting mission, we have had some obstacles … but also many, many blessings … _many_ survivors." He turned and held Tom's gaze before he looked to the balance of the American team. "I must say now … along with your team … we were saddened to hear of Reverend Scott's passing earlier this evening," he acknowledged.

" _Yes … an unfortunate turn indeed …,"_ Michener agreed politically.

Bautista nodded in assent. "I do believe – _with the aid of Captain Chandler and Master Chief Jeter_ – we will be capable of giving him a proper service … a send off … truly, it will be an honor," he said, his eyes sweeping over the men on the opposite side of the table.

" _And from what I understand … that ceremony will still take place tomorrow morning …,"_ Michener prompted smoothly.

Tom spoke up, "Yes, Sir … at first light, the tide will be out and we've secured the use of an abandoned yacht." Jeter nodded in assent. "I will officiate with Master Chief and I am sure it will bring Dr. Scott the closure she needs," he added thoughtfully.

" _I think that's all we can hope for now, Captain Chandler,"_ Michener replied. _"I presume your departure will begin some time within the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours … first to Subic Bay and then home to St. Louis with Colonel Holbrooke …,"_ he tabulated.

Tom glanced at Holbrooke and smiled. "You are correct in that estimation, Sir," he answered. "Following the burial, we will spend one more day and night here, on the island …," he began. "This will allow Dr. Scott the time she needs to determine the scientific success of the quarantine … along with the study of a smaller quarantine of several elderly patients she has been quite concerned about …," he went on, his mind wrapped around Rachel and her compassion now; his heart softened.

"Yes ...," interjected Bautista. "Dr. Scott is very concerned ... for she did not want to lose a _single_ life on this island to the virus … she is a very caring scientist, so passionate about her work …," he admired frankly.

" _That she is …,"_ Michener replied.

Bautista smiled at the team. "At her request, we have moved those patients to our very own quarters _here_ where we have positioned them overnight with several strong carriers …," he smiled. "And I believe this will make Dr. Scott _very_ happy …," he gushed enthusiastically, his dark eyes pinned to Tom's now.

Tom smiled in return and acknowledged, "I'm sure she will rest easier this evening knowing you've taken care of these patients."

"You'll be sure to inform her then," Bautista suggested casually.

"I absolutely will," Tom smiled at his persistence.

 _###_

Soon thereafter, the team finalized their call with Michener. And after a round of hearty congratulations from both sides, they stepped out and into the night – _minus Green and Holbrooke_ – and descended the steps from Bautista's bungalow.

Tom looked pointedly to Mike and Russ, "They're happy ... singing our praises."

"As they should be," Mike replied. He turned to Burk and Miller. "When Green and Holbrooke return, I'd like to take one more pass-through down at the quarantine before we turn in," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," the men answered in unison.

"Do you think they'll get through to them, Sir?" Miller prompted as they began to walk toward the coast.

"I hope so," Mike answered, a spark of empathy in his eyes. "Would certainly be a positive end to the day if Green reached Foster … and Holbrooke, his wife …," he added, a small smile etched along his face now.

 _Tom smiled at the thought, hoping for the best now for these couples. For he was well aware of the fallout of stress from radio silence and the fear of the unknown ... especially so since the Nathan James had sailed off toward the Arctic all of those months ago._

 _The group soon became quiet and reflective and within that reprieve, Tom inhaled the sweet tropical air, systematically filling his lungs with the island elixir as they walked on in silence for several paces. Each man surely lost within his own thoughts now as their boots left prints in the pristine sand and the palm trees danced in the nautical breeze and the large moon rose higher in the sky._

 _Naturally Tom's thoughts gravitated to Rachel and her mental state along with Ashley and Sam wherein he hoped to spend a few private moments with them before they would hit the sack. A reflexive smile formed on his face now as he marveled at his children – knowing that Darien would have been so proud of their willingness to give of themselves so freely – and to help those in need. They were remarkable people, his kids ... and they reminded him of her._

 _###_

The bungalow was quiet when they returned. Tom glanced at the clock on the wall, it was just after eight-thirty. The room was empty save for Phillip – _earbuds in, eyes fixed to his laptop screen_ – so engrossed in his work, he had no idea they'd walked in. Tom approached and leaned down to enter his peripheral vision. The photographer smiled and tugged on his earbuds.

"You know how to clear a room," Tom chortled as he surreptitiously checked on his new friend.

"So I've been told," Phillip answered with a wry grin. "The kids just went to bed, but I would bet money they're not asleep yet," he informed him with a knowing smile.

Tom chuckled and presumed, "Too wound up?"

"Something like that … your Dad's with them," he smiled.

"And Rachel … how is she?" Tom queried, his voice low.

Phillip sighed, his serious eyes softening around the edges. "She excused herself close to an hour ago … said she was going to turn in for the night," he exhaled. "She seemed all right though … but then again … she usually does …," he surmised evenly.

"Yes … she does," Tom marveled at her fortitude. He switched gears and wondered, "And _you_ … how are you holding up?"

"I'm well, actually," Phillip smiled and suddenly appeared so much younger than he did when they first met. "This mission … it has become the trip of a lifetime …," he declared.

"For all of us," Tom concurred.

"And you were right when you said the company you keep _– your team and your family_ – were in a class unto themselves …," Philip went on. "It's been an unreal experience … and worth _so_ much more than an article and a pictorial …," he smiled genuinely.

Tom smiled too, "I'm glad you see it that way … it's been a long journey thus far."

Philip smiled. "One day – _when you have time_ – years from now maybe," he chuckled. "Who knows … maybe you'll look at these photos … and remember what it felt like to be here – _to bring this miracle to these people_ – and in looking back, perhaps you'll find validation and happiness …... because it's truly a sight to behold …," he sighed wistfully.

"I'd like nothing more," Tom answered. "And I'd be remiss if I didn't say, it's been a real pleasure to have you with us," he asserted, because it was true.

 _###_

 _With Mike and Russ nearly ordering him to turn in, Tom walked gingerly down the small hallway now. He stopped just outside the kids' doorway and looked to the end of the hallway, seeing now that his door was ajar about a half an inch. He smiled and turned his attention to the door on his right, open just a crack – he heard Ashley's tiny, sleepy voice. He pushed against the door with his fingertips and peeked inside. A small bedside lamp illuminated the space with a soft, golden light. Sam in one twin bed, his father at perched at his side … his innocent eyes closed. Ashley, tucked deep inside the opposite bed – her eyes closed with contentment – though she was talking to her grandfather … something relative to the moon and the tides._

Tom pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside, the floor creaked under his feet. Ashley sat up and whispered happily, "Dad!"

"Hi Ash," he smiled, doting on his tired girl. "Hi Dad," he whispered to his father as he entered the room, looking for signs of duress.

"Hi Son … everything all right?" he queried as Tom sat down on Ashley's bed and intuitively wrapped her inside of his embrace.

"Yes … so far, as planned … Michener is happy and we're set for tomorrow morning," Tom answered as he held Ashley close.

 _She smelled of island sweetness, coconut and vanilla and something else – and suddenly, she felt bigger in his arms – a reckoning that startled him, if only for a moment. His father became blurred and fragmented and Tom blinked his emotions into recession._

" _Dad … can we come with you tomorrow … in the morning, for the ceremony?"_ came his daughter's melodic voice.

He smiled at is father and pulled back to take a look at her – _her brow knitted with concern_ – her serious eyes, dark and faceted. "I don't know, sweet girl … perhaps we need to ask Rachel …," he said gruffly. He blinked.

Ashley smiled brightly. "I already did and she said to ask you," she giggled. "She also said she would be _very_ happy if we were there," she prodded innocently.

Tom beamed, his heart suddenly alighted. "All right then … you and your brother may come along," he decided.

"Thank you," Ashley sighed, hugging him tightly now. " _I am so happy because now, I know Rachel won't be as sad,"_ she whispered fervently into his ear.

Tom blinked hastily and held his father's intense gaze wherein he silently grounded himself. Tilting his head, he saw now that the shadows somehow had aged his father exponentially, revealing just how tired he must be. "Dad … why don't you hit the sack," he suggested evenly.

His father smiled and answered. "I think I will … it will be an early start." And with that, he rose and tousled Ashley's hair. "Night kiddo, love you," he said softly.

Ashley craned her neck back and smiled, "Night, love you too."

 _His father slipped from the room and Tom's thoughts went wild as he thought of interment to the sea and what it meant and therein he lost himself slightly, thinking now about his own, symbolic burial at sea … for his sweet love Darien. Reflexively, he cradled Ashley in his arms now – allowing himself to ponder those hours alone after Rachel awoke – only a few short weeks ago when he dared himself to slip his wedding band off and tuck it inside that box with Darien's … for as long as they both shall live._

 _He inhaled sharply and trained his eyes on Sam's sleeping form for a beat wherein he retreated further into the comfort of Ashley's familiar energy – and found himself feeling blessed – for so much of everything he loved about their mother, resided within them. For they were her legacy and he felt great comfort in knowing that she would always be with them._

Ashley yawned and lay down. Tom looked down at her. "You're an amazing young woman," he declared then.

She blushed and smiled, "Thanks."

He smoothed her hair away from her face. "You better get some sleep," he suggested with a small smile.

"You too," she smiled. "Rachel went to sleep a long time ago … she was tired and pretty sad I think …," she exhaled.

"I heard as much …," he smiled, admiring his daughter.

"I'm glad you're sharing a room …," she announced suddenly, her eyes fastened to his.

"You are …," he breathed, somewhat awestruck by her honesty.

And therein his heart raced, for they had briefly discussed the sleeping arrangements before he departed for his debrief with Michener. And although he believed he handled the discussion with tact, he wasn't sure how the kids really felt about this: _the idea of their father sharing a bed with another woman._

At a minimum he knew they were comfortable with Rachel – _and trusted her immensely_ – and that somehow mattered more than their approval of the semantics. For following their jaunt alone with her on Subic Bay – _he saw them now as they worked together at the quarantine_ – the manner in which they communicated and relied upon one another … _they were a unit_ … like shipmates and so much more. They were almost like family.

" _I really am, Dad,"_ Ashley was assuring him now. "Especially because of her Dad and how he died – _she might need a hug in the night_ – sometimes people just need hugs at night …," she reasoned softly, her brow knitted.

 _Tom blinked and a wave of agonizing sadness claimed him as he thought of the kids and their lonely nights without their mother … and without him there to comfort them. And as he thought of them … his thoughts turned to Rachel and the loss of her mother, also at young, impressionable age – followed closely by the emotional loss of her father (this man she strived to understand and forgive for her entire adult life) and therein – Tom's heart broke, just a little bit more for everyone he cherished and loved and longed to protect: his kids, his father … Rachel._

Leaning down, he gathered his daughter in his arms and whispered fervently, "I won't pretend to believe that _any_ of this has been anything but terrible for you … but I can hope that you and Sam got all the hugs you needed when you needed them most."

" _We did, Dad … we did … I promise …,"_ she whispered; her voice shook. _"And now we're all together again … and everything is better,"_ she added quickly.

"It is … so much more than better …," he wholeheartedly agreed.

 _###_

Tom closed the door behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust – _the room lit only by a shard of blue moonlight that cascaded through the opaque curtains_ – the air, warm and sweet, and the energy within, peaceful. Rachel lay sleeping on her left side, facing the windows, her breathing, both slow and easy. _She was all right._

He exhaled and sat down on the chair in the far corner and began to unlace his boots, his mind crowded with a vast array of thoughts regarding life and survival – _and especially of fatherhood_ – and of timing … and twists of fate and destinies crossing paths. He pushed his boots under the chair and looked around the room again wherein he noticed a stack of his uniforms on the dresser – _perfectly folded_ – the cotton laundry bag situated on top. He thought of Cait and smiled.

 _Sighing, he supposed he should shower and close the day but his eyes rested on Rachel instead and therein all he could think of was those dark nights he spent alone in her hospital room – clinical, cold and full of uncertainty – where he would invariably watch her sleep ... and rest ... and recover ... while time moved slower than he ever thought possible. The days and nights so long, he almost lost himself inside of that room. And just when he thought he might not survive losing her … she woke up … and although that was only a few short weeks ago, it truly felt as if a lifetime had gone by._

Grounding himself now, his heart raced and he turned to watch her breathe again, slow and easy – _'she was fine'_ – he coached himself … for even with all that had happened today, she was all right. She was strong and capable and looked more like the Rachel he first met every day. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the waves crashing along the shoreline and allowed the fatigue set deep within his eyes to ebb slightly. Sitting back, he listened again for the sound of her breathing between the crescendo of the waves and stilled his heart and his mind, breathing in tandem with her now.

 _"I'm all right, you know,"_ came the soft timbre of her voice as it floated through the room.

Tom's eyes popped open and he crossed the room as she gingerly rolled over, a careworn smile etched along her angular face. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said softly then, his eyes fixed to hers: _endless pools of raw emotion._ He sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed her halo with his fingertips. Her hair was soft and damp and she turned her face into his palm and kissed him there.

She sighed deeply and laced her fingers through his. "Are you all right?" she asked of him then. She drew his hand up to her mouth and pressed her lips to flesh, her gesture: _simple, quick, but no less meaningful._

"I am," he answered.

"You know ... all I've wanted for hours … was this stolen moment alone with you," she whispered quickly, her eyes so intense, he almost had to look away. _Almost_. The air was hot between them. "Alone and shrouded in everything you make me feel …," she husked.

 _Tom's heart arrested. He leaned forward, balancing himself on one hand before he kissed her sweet mouth – pulsing his lips against hers – she tasted of mint toothpaste and carried with her the essence of that face cream he found so intoxicating. His tempo was slow and gentle, harmonizing with the energy housed within their refuge, this secret place that belonged solely to them – her hand on his neck, his nose brushing against hers – he hummed into her mouth and released the balance of his stress and trepidations because … she was all right._

Pulling back, he took a good long look at her, resting his weight on his elbow, he smiled at her and she at him and even though he knew she was all right – _he spied a set of tiny tears fill her eyes and well along her luminescent edges_ – she blinked and set them free and he smoothed them away with his thumbs. Her lips quivered and she shook her head. And he held his tongue, for he knew her well enough to know she would soon articulate her feelings.

 _She raised her good arm and framed her head with it – the swell of her breasts visible now through her thin ecru tank top – and so drawn was he to her that he leaned down and kissed her again, for he just could not help himself. And so it was that she returned his sentiment, humming into his mouth as she silently grounded herself while he did the same._

She kissed him _once, twice_ and pulled back only slightly. "You know … I orphaned myself a long time ago …," she exhaled, her eyes pinned to his. "Marooned myself on an island of my own making …," she husked bravely. "But only now, _today_ did I truly become … orphaned …," she exhaled, searching his eyes, back and forth now.

Tom tilted his head and regarded her, for he knew he could try to negate what she said, but not how she felt. "I'm sorry …," he said instead and gathered her in his arms where he held her, impressing upon her without words for a long moment in time – _her wild heart beating against chest_ – her hot breath breezing across his neck. "I believe … if could ever fill that void … I hope you know, I would …," he whispered, his nose pressed into the crease of her neck now.

 _He felt her relax and grow heavier in his arms then and he looked upon those reflexive actions as a sign that she would heed what he had to say and take heart in believing his earlier sentiments … that he indeed wasn't going anywhere. Not without her. For from the very beginning of this thing between them – from the moment she woke up – he realized his fate: that he wouldn't let her walk away, not this time … and likely … not ever._

She sighed deeply then and asked of him, _"Is he … his body prepared?"_

He didn't move or shift to look at her. "Yes …," he answered.

She shivered inside of his embrace, burrowing deeper into his cradle hold. _"So … first light,"_ she prompted quietly, though he could hear her mind working through it all.

He sighed and kissed her neck, "Yes … as planned." Pulling back, he found her eyes in the relative darkness. "You should get some rest," he suggested evenly.

She smiled weakly, "And you should join me."

Pulling her close, his mouth found her lips and then her neck. "I plan to," he husked into her ear. "I'm going to hit the shower … and I'll be back," he whispered.

 _###_

A short while later, Tom slipped between the cool sheets and chased Rachel's innate heat – _his hair, damp, his body, suddenly exhausted_ – he came to rest flush against her back where he smoothed her long tresses away and kissed the nape of her neck, encountering the faint residue of her antiseptic ointment. Tilting his head, he traced the outline of her tender scar with his fingertips and therein he lost himself for a moment in time.

" _I'm healing all right, really … I am,"_ she whispered without moving.

Tom sighed and set his palm on the swell of her hip. "I see that," he replied. "You're tending to your exit wound too … your mobility's improved …," he observed evenly, his hot breath fanning her neck, _back and forth_.

She snorted and Tom pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. _"Hardly … Ashley was your stand in,"_ she explained, retreating deeper into his warmth. He smiled at their ease with one another and counted that as a blessing.

"Good night, Rachel …," he whispered then and moved his hand across her abdomen where he left it, his lips pressed to her shoulder cap now.

" _Sleep well … I think … I hope, I will too …,"_ came her sleepy reply.

Exhaling now, he once again found himself listening for the easy rhythm of her breathing and was comforted by her slight shift as she settled deeper into the crescent of his body for the night ahead. He sighed and watched the opaque curtain billow in the tepid breeze and listened to the ocean – _the tide, high, the waves, substantial_ – the moon surely higher in the sky. Releasing the last of his stressors, he finally closed his eyes and acquiesced to the liquid black, velvety darkness of sleep.

 _###_

 _His thoughts were wild until he found Rachel's essence again, for she was uniquely balanced of earth and sea now and cloaked by that island sweetness he attributed to this place … this island where her clandestine dreams became fused with their realities._

 _And so it was somewhere in the deeper recesses of his mind, that he pondered this journey of theirs … of lifecycles – this mission of a lifetime – his mind meandering through its blessings and the curses now. This strange sojourn he'd found himself at the center of … with his children and father sleeping comfortably down the hall and almost everything in his life tipped on its side. Almost. Everything._

 _His mind wandered further away and for some reason or another he was reminded of the crossing of their paths in the first place – merely a sea captain and a misunderstood scientist – and therein he thought of the Nathan James, their backdrop._

 _For she was a pillar deep within his mind's eye now – a steel monument he fashioned to his heart – one that would remain there in perpetuity and live on as a reminder of the fierce way in which they fought to protect what was rightfully theirs: freedom and health and longevity. Her vast decks, the battleground upon which they stood … tall and proud in both victory and defeat … and with such nobility at times of interment when the formidable ship would bolster her crew as they mourned the losses of those they could not protect._

 _Standing upon her deck now, Tom anticipated the reason for this particular dreamscape and became an observer … allowing his mind to explore that day in his life all of those months ago after Ensign Benz took his own life. A defining moment. Those precarious seconds in which he felt a total loss of control – the devastation front and center now – the determined virus and its savage hold upon the human spirit, more than evident._

 _And so he recalled that next bright and sunny day as he stood upon the deck of the Nathan James and felt himself falter. Something rare and unique for him. And as he lost his footing, he squinted at the sea from under his combination cap and allowed Master Chief's sermon to resonate and find a space within his heart as they sailed away from whence they came._

 _He could look back, but he didn't dare and therein the old man on the Italian cruise ship funneled to his forefront while Tom ruminated about those tremulous moments spent in his presence – and the way Rachel Scott spoke with him as she gave him that precious dose of morphine to dull the aches and pains of his last moments upon this earth – and the compassionate way her hand briefly caressed his … and the way she held his gaze as if he was all that mattered in the world._

 _Just as she would come to do with her own father – months away from that moment – perhaps everything in life was circular … and connected. Perhaps._

 _The dreamscape became real again and the wind whipped up and Tom gripped the railing and his wedding band sparkled against the sun and sea – and therein he wondered how Darien was … wondered if she 'was' … still at all anymore – and therein, he felt his heart drop, plummet akin to an anchor … until she, his only hope … appeared at his side._

" _These people depend on me," he told her then. "I'm in uncharted territory here," he admitted, his voice, far away and methodical._

 _"We all are," she had answered, her terse voice softer now._

 _To which he replied, "Not you. You saw this coming."_

 _But then she spoke with him and explained her position. And within those first moments alone, he remembered really seeing her for the first time – this unexpected wildcard of his – wherein he realized she was more like him than he imagined. For she had her convictions and they were courageous, he knew this now as he'd begun to study her dossier. She was a risk-taker and that also matched his temperament … and although they would come to argue and fight and disagree and mistrust one another along the way … there was a small voice inside of his head that told him she would be the one to solve this thing._

 _She would be their savior. And that, for him … was the game-changer … for she'd won the right to see this thing through long before he knew about this secret mission of 'hers'. And that, he knew, also had to count for something. It all had to mean something, the twists in their fates – that she would end up here – on the James ... with him at the helm._

 _###_

And on that thought, Tom was roused from his sleep state wherein he intuitively reached for Rachel, but found she wasn't there. He sat up and cased the sanctuary – _she was gone_ – and the air was suddenly stifling. He got out of bed, noticed the door was still closed and crossed the room to the window. And then he saw her – _perched upon the porch railing, her back set against a wooden beam, her legs bare and knees raised_ – her eyes pinned to the blue moon, her long hair cascading down her back, her profile illuminated via the fragmented nocturnal light. He stilled his heart and attempted to determine if she was distraught … but alas, seemed at peace. She was more than ethereal.

A set of waves rolled against the coast and echoed off of the mountain, urging him to move on and forward now. He sighed and stepped over the threshold, the wood beneath his feet, sandy and sticky with humidity, the breeze pleasant, the sky overhead, clear and black.

"Rachel …," he called to her from just outside the doorway.

She turned and stunned him with her inner beauty. She smiled weakly but he spotted the melancholy etched deep within her eyes. "Sam shared your secret with me …," she exhaled, staring at him still.

He approached her and came to stand at the railing, eye-to-eye now. "Which one?" he teased, eliciting a laugh from her. He set his hand along the small of her back and pressed his lips to her halo where he breathed her in.

"The one about the earth only having one moon …," she answered, peering up to him.

"Hmm … yes, a diversionary tactic," he murmured. "It works though," he smiled, noticing how red her eyes were around the edges.

She smiled too and turned back to the moon, _"It does."_

 _He sighed and stepped forward to see the view, draping one arm along her shoulders, he set his chin upon her raised knee and his free hand on top of her bare feet. The moon was full and bright and perfect. The waves were big and the ocean appeared endless under the bright blue light. He felt Rachel shudder before she pitched forward and pressed her mouth to his temple where she pulsed her lips. Her energy was warm and inviting. Tom leaned into her lithe touch and noticed he could see the edge of the refugee camp from their perch. And everything seemed so quiet and peaceful now. Such a contrast from the discord they encountered upon their arrival._

" _I feel so ambivalent …,"_ she whispered then. Tom hesitated. _"I feel as though … I've seen enough death, you know …,"_ she unburdened. _"And that this … burial … tomorrow morning ... cannot come fast enough,"_ she went on, her voice cracked.

Tom inhaled sharply and turned to face her. He smiled weakly and flicked a small tear away from her angular cheek. She blinked and smiled through her emotions. "It's just a moment in time …," he counseled now, spotting the disquiet in her eyes, he drew her closer. "Just a moment … _swift and purposeful_ … and then it will be over …," he breathed, so close to her now he could feel the tremors of the tension she'd worked so hard to suppress.

She shook her head and stared at him still and he wondered what she was thinking – _her glassy eyes luminous against the moonlight_ – he held his tongue and waited, so lost within her beauty … so raw and uncensored now. "I'm numb …," she bleated. "Everything is suddenly so … _morbid_ …," she whispered quickly. Her lips quivered and Tom reached for her as she dropped her knees and turned into his arms – _nose to nose now, he kissed her_ – his tempo slow and succinct, his mind wrapped solely around easing her sorrow. "I just want to breathe again," she husked against his mouth, deepening their oral hold upon one another. She shifted and was flush against him now, her smooth calves flanking his hips. "To feel alive again … with you …," she persisted.

 _The intensity between them was omnipresent now and the balance of the world and its plight and its death and its destruction fell away and all that was left was Rachel with her hands everywhere, all at once. She was standing now, her toes flush against his as they swayed in one another's arms – retreating into their sanctuary again – mouths fused together, hearts aligned … the stolen moment, belonging solely to them … finally seized._

 _A guttural moan escaped from her swollen lips and responsive desire pooled in his core – his cock pulsed, twitching for her – and he thought to pull back and away, but he found he couldn't, for she was like a drug … and he wanted more. And because he also wanted to feel alive … he also wanted to breathe again … he realized this now as she swept her hands under his shirt and caressed his flesh, skin on skin._

 _They moved again – the euphoric haze causing a slow motion effect – where they swayed and turned and ended up at the foot of the bed. Pausing, Tom opened his eyes and stared at her, their bated breath hot and sweet, his heartbeat, the soundtrack for the moment as they stared at one another – her eyes hooded with desire – his pulse raced, wherein he thought to himself he'd never seen her look so gorgeous._

He took her hand in his and sat down on the bed and she came to stand in front of him. "We should get some rest …," he whispered thickly, his lips swollen, _tingling_ , his heart on fire for her.

"We should …," she breathed before she cupped his face in her healing hands and stepped closer, her mouth attached his again where she stole the last of his breath. Pulling back, she narrowed her shoulders and dropped her arms and brazenly let her sheathe slide from her body.

 _Tom swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at her. She was a gorgeous woman, he knew that – but inside of this moment – with her chest heaving and her face flushed and her arousal made evident across her puckered flesh, he could only spy her raw beauty._

 _This side of her he swore she only revealed to him – this small piece of herself he'd seen many times before in her heated frenzies when it came to scientific breakthroughs – her intrinsic passionate self, the one hidden beneath the layers and layers of protected emotions … all pooled at her feet now along with her tank top._

 _Reaching up, she met him halfway and he began to kiss her in earnest again, making love to her sweet mouth as he trailed his fingertips along her exposed flesh and the perfect swell of her breasts – his thumbs brushing across her beaded nerves – wherein she moaned into his mouth and grounded herself, her fists pinned to his shoulders now as she pulled back and stared at him – her breathing stacked – her eyes wild with desire before she whispered her cloistered plea._

"I want you, Tom … to feel alive with you …," she heaved.

 ** _To be continued …_**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Author's Note: The content in this chapter is erotic in nature and was written as a piece of fictional art ... an exploration of true love and the actions those deep feelings can incite. I feel this chapter resides just on the cusp of an M rating, though because of its tenderness I've decided to leave the rating alone. If I decide to change the rating and you haven't "favorited" or "followed" this story, you will have to use the rating filter and search for M-rated stories to locate Heart's Desires on the board.**

 _ **###**_

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 23**

"I want you, Tom _…_ to feel alive with you …," she heaved.

 _And with that declaration ... time stopped as Rachel looked down upon her new lover – his flushed face so close to her body now – she could feel his hot breath breeze across her sensitive flesh, her nipples tightening under his intense scrutiny; she nearly melted right out of her skin. Her desire for him, a true awakening – her longing to feel alive and breathe in tandem with him – suddenly her only coherent thoughts. Heightened emotions and hormonal surges aside, all she found she really wanted was to live inside that ubiquitous dream with him: sun, surf, lust, love, baby._

"You stun me," he breathed into the relative darkness then – _the canopy of their small enclave, protecting them from the world_ – the full blue moon offering just enough light to illuminate their path upon this precipice. He traced his fingertips along the scar of her entry wound and blinked hastily.

 _"Don't hesitate,"_ she heard herself whisper.

Having seen the shadow of doubt cast within his eyes, she cradled his skull in her hands now as her heart pounded and she stared at him still – _this man she'd come to depend upon ... and adore and cherish, like no other_ – this man of her dreams ... on the island where it all started. Leaning forward, she kissed his his crown, a course of passionate energy zipping along her spine as he pulsed his lips against her throat.

"Jesus … Rachel ...," he began, but she only pressed her fingers to his supple lips and held them there wherein she promptly lost herself inside the depths of his eyes: _blue, faceted … vacillating with uncertainty._

"Don't over-think it ... I know it's soon …," she whispered her plea, her breathing stacked. Stepping even closer to him, her heart gave out as he set his hands upon her hips and ducked down, pulsing his open mouth across her rib cage – _the dart of his tongue skimming across her gooseflesh_ – his short, soft hair, tickling the underside of her breasts. "If you're ready …," she sighed breathlessly and captured his lips with hers. "I'm ready …," she husked against his open mouth, her hands flanking his skull. "If ever there was a time of high emotion ...," she blinked with haste. "A stolen moment made just for us ... this is it ...," she whispered, her eyes fastened to his as she pulled back.

"It's not too soon …," he muttered, smoothing her hair away from her shoulder before descending his mouth to the swell of her breast; his beautiful eyes still fixed on hers. _She trembled in his arms._ "Considering today ...," he sighed, his fingertips caressing her clavicle now. "And I _do_ ... want you …," he hushed, his voice gruff. "But you're killing me," he chuckled, one arm wrapped around the small of her back now, his free hand on her hip. "We don't have a glove …," he breathed, kissing her neck. "A condom ...," he husked quickly, his striking blue eyes captivating her just so.

Mesmerized, Rachel leaned forward and raised her leg, placing her shin upon his thigh where she held his gaze for a beat longer before she kissed him again – _her hand over his heart_ – his muscle beating under her palm. He hummed into her mouth and she paused, brushing her thumb across his lips. "We don't need anything …," she breathed.

"No?" he queried, his keen eyes pinned to hers again.

She shook her head slowly and smiled, her mind working on overdrive. "Four days ago …," she whispered. "I went on birth control … the pill …," she sighed, watching carefully for his reaction; his eyes crinkled around the edges. _Her heart raced._ "I had it prescribed at the hospital … of course, I wasn't thinking about this … _us_ … _here_ … _tonight_ … but …," she rambled on, her voice trailing off now.

"We're … safe ...," he concluded softly, a whimsical smile etched along his face now.

"We are …," she declared breathlessly as she observed a measure of relief wash over him.

"And ready …," he countered as he pulled her up and into his arms.

 _Where they came to stand together and he wasted no time before he began his assault upon her senses. Making love to her mouth, his ministrations were in perfect harmony with hers as she slowly … methodically … unraveled the last of her reservations and became pliant in his arms. Swaying together, they soon found a perfect rhythm, their hands roaming free ... their minds and hearts connected. His fingertips breaching the thin fabric of her panties as he inched them down, deepening their oral union as he went._

Pausing to catch his breath, Tom set his forehead against hers and smiled. She smiled too and pushed her hands beneath his undershirt and he pulled it over his head. Her panties fell to the floor and tufts of hot air ricocheted between them. Peering down, she set her hand over the scar on his abdomen – _her handiwork smooth, familiar_ – she blinked hastily and fragmented memories of the oil rig explosion filtered through her mind: _death, heat, fear, sadness._ She hesitated and the thunderous sound of her heartbeat reached her eardrums as her blood ran cold and drained ... _somewhere_ ... and her skin pricked in response.

"Hey … I'm all right …," Tom intuited her then. "You saw to that," he whispered, setting his hand over hers, he added pressure.

She shuddered and thought of the odds and the blessings bestowed upon them that day. "I know," she acknowledged, her heart trembling akin to a leaf on a vine.

 _She found his eyes – her solace in all of this – and held him there for a moment longer before she danced her fingertips along his skin just beneath the waistband of his boxers. He hummed in response and pitched forward as she stretched the fabric now to accommodate for his lengthening muscle wherein she pulled the offending garment down and freed him from his confines._

 _Nude and unencumbered now, Tom drew her near and fused his mouth to hers, his pulses, tender and unhurried – his fingertips moving through her wild tresses, her hands pinned to his hips – her stimulated nipples cutting across his well-defined chest, his virile cock wedged between their bodies now as he moaned into her mouth and her vaginal muscles pulsed in response._

She wanted him. And he wanted her. The facts were pure and simple. A stark variance from their unfathomable pairing. And yet, all paths had directed them here. Together. On this island and on this night. Presently inside of a dream that began inside of a coma. Light years away from where either one ever imagined they might have been on this mutual date in their lives.

 _And in acknowledging those circumstances, Rachel pulled back and flicked her eyes to Tom's before she looked down and boldly caressed his cock, cupping her hand over his sack where she held her breath and felt him shudder. Her core on fire for him now as she made her inaugural exploration, his stiff rod encased by a smooth layer of silky skin – his hum of pleasure echoing between them, her name falling from his lips akin to a beacon – as she began to gently move her hand up and down his shaft: every inch of his erogenous virility in her palm of her hand now … and he felt so good._

 _For she simply could not get enough of him. Closing her eyes now, she lost herself inside of his magnetism – this dream of intimacy with him – before she tilted her head up and pressed her open mouth to his chest, her lips closing around his trillion nipples where she flicked her tongue and sucked on his flesh._

" _Rachel …,"_ came her lover's hiss and the spell, temporarily broken. She raised her head and found his eyes in the fragmented light. He tugged on her hand and she carefully lay down where he hovered over her for a moment, his lips pressed to her entry wound, "This okay so far?" he muttered against her delicate scar tissue.

She looked up to him and her heart raced, "Yes."

He came to rest at her side then, his rigid cock wedged against her outer thigh now as he leaned on his elbow and set his chin in the palm of his hand. He traced the outline of her halo with his free hand … his eyes, a shade darker, laden with desire now. "My turn …," he growled playfully as he fastened his eyes to hers and began to trace the outline of her areolas with his pointer finger; slowly teasing her nipples until they stood at attention for him. Responsive desire zipped through her erogenous zone, her vaginal walls pulsed; her body screamed for more.

 _Closing her eyes now, she let him be to explore her body wherein she found herself more relaxed (and turned on) than she had been in a very, very long time … if ever at all. For she felt safe with him and therein she dismantled her boundary walls and gave herself to him freely (a new concept for her) … living right inside the moment with him now: this dream come true._

 _Her flesh was hot and his fingertips and lips were everywhere at once now as he pressed tiny, open mouthed kisses to the swell of her breasts, abdomen, rib cage and neck – the scent of her arousal, the very air they breathed – and so instinctive was her for desire for him that she felt for his cock and caressed him there. His hard muscle lengthening at her touch – his sensitive head, smooth as silk – he was gorgeous inside and out and she wanted him. Tom's mouth found hers again and he kissed her senseless … her core smoldering, her vaginal walls, pulsing with anticipation._

He suddenly moved and she let go of him, opening her eyes to find his broad form hovering over her on all fours – _his eyes flicking to hers for a beat before he dipped his head and volleyed his attention between her breasts_ – his kisses traveling lower and even lower still until he reached the apex of her thighs. He looked up and set one hand over her mound; her hips rose to meet his touch. "You're gorgeous …," he whispered his declaration.

"So are you," she whispered her reply and raised her good arm, framing her head.

 _Leaving his hand there, Tom leaned up and kissed her mouth, his tongue darting against hers playfully, his cock tickling her hip bone. Craving more of his touch, she shifted and found his eyes before she jackknifed her knee and wordlessly invited him inside – her delicate folds slick with everything he did to her. He sighed and gently massaged her there – her bundle of nerves wound so tight now, she knew … one flick of his tongue … one brush of his thumb … and she'd come undone._

He kissed her once more for good measure then – _his mouth traveling again, pursing his lips around each nipple before he left her rosy pleasure points and she watched him go._ Where he came to rest his head upon her hip bone, his fingers still flanking her sticky folds where she stilled herself and wondered what he was thinking – _her most intimate and sacred part of herself open and ready for him_ – completely vulnerable to his proximity and untamed vigor.

 _She closed her eyes and felt his hot breath breeze across her mound, in, out, in, out, he inhaled her essence – while she listened to the crescendo of the waves as they crashed along the shoreline – her lover's stacked breathing in harmony with hers until he kissed her pelvic bone and her senses went nuts. She opened her eyes and he craned his neck up meet her gaze._

She inhaled sharply and was momentarily stunned by his vitality as he fastened his all-seeing eyes to hers now and slowly brushed his finger over her swollen clit, just enough … his touch, somehow already familiar. He exhaled and watched for her response – _also_ _teasing her with his eyes_ – as he gently eased his finger along her seam and into to her channel en-route to her molten recesses. Her responsive muscles claiming his digit – _wherein he smiled like the devil inside and had his way with her_ – _in, out,_ his finger went, _in out,_ her arousal coated his hand and funneled to her surface from deep within her core. She was his ... a fact he was well aware of now.

 _Losing complete control of her senses, Rachel closed her eyes and opened her hips wider for him while he continued his systematic pulses – his lips returning to her quivering abdomen as he traveled up – matching the tempo of his mouth to his slow downward pulses. His careful ministrations working her into a heated frenzy as her heart raced wildly – her nerves splitting in half and then in half again and again and again, the heel of his hand adding just the right amount of pressure to her clit – until he abruptly slowed his rhythm and her hips rose from the bed to chase him ... the undercurrent of her orgasm suspended for now … his finger held in place by her tenacious muscles and their faint chant for more … more … more._

 _Time lost all meaning for Rachel now inside this deep vacuum of her own making – and suddenly she felt as though she had returned to her dreamscape – the thick humid air, the tropical island essences mingling with her sex now, her lover's hot breath fanning her face, for she knew he was watching her ... and gauging her response ... to him. And therein she felt connected to him as she did only once before since they met: ensconced deep within her subconscious … where that whimsical and unrealistic and idyllic dream resided._

 _And so drawn was she now to her feelings unearthed within that dream, she so badly wanted to open hers eyes and find Tom – and to make it all real in there here and now – except that a small part of herself wondered if it was just another elaborate hoax … for what if she opened her eyes again and ... none of it was real? What if? She dared herself to ponder this notion … and to remember that, scientifically, the human brain was indeed complex. She shook her head at the thought and grappled with her deep-rooted fears; but she was too late and a small set of salty tears slipped beyond her eyelids. And only then did she hear him call to her_.

 _"I'm right here ...,"_ he whispered thickly. His voice was soothing and familiar and meant solely for her.

Pulled from her myriad of thoughts, Rachel opened her eyes and found her lover right where she left him. He slipped his finger from her depths and a shiver zipped up her spine and she instinctively rolled into him and he into her. "I was lost ...," she muttered, her wet eyes trained on his before she pressed her mouth to his neck and held on tight – _inhaling his organic essence_ – deep sea and salt, black coffee, pineapple and something else.

 _"I know ...,"_ he husked into the crease of her neck. "But I found you ...," he exhaled and pushed her chin up where he privately checked on her, his fingers tangled in her wild tresses now before he kissed her again: _slow and easy_. "Rachel … this is real ...," he incited, sensing her unease. "It's the most alive I've felt in a long while ...," he went on.

"Me too," she answered, moving flush against him, searching for signs of duress made at her expense, but she found none.

"And you feel ... so good," he flirted, one hand palming her tush; he held her close and laced his legs through hers.

Her heart raced and she answered, "So do you." Retreating into his innate heat now, she kissed his familiar lips and snaked her good arm around his waist to draw him even closer _– his cock waking up against her abdomen_ – ticking her there, as she made love to his mouth and reached between them for his shaft.

 _His muscle twitched, reacting to her gentle touch – wherein Tom deepened their kiss as she began to stroke his length, familiar already – his hand converging upon her center now where he came to caress her in tandem, the pad of his thumb resting on her sensitive nub … the pressure just enough to drive her nuts._

Pulling away from his mouth – _Rachel caught her breath and stared at him now_ – the desire lodged within his eyes, so intense ... she felt a swell of impatient energy emerge from her depths and a guttural moan escaped from her lips. "Please ...," was all she could say, the haze of their intimacy cloaking her as she gently palmed his delicate sack – _unable to let go_ – because, quite simply, she craved their connection above all else.

 _Tom smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. He ran his fingers along her glossy folds one last time before he moved without hesitation and knelt before her – his cock rising high as he fisted his shaft and pumped, once, twice – her vaginal muscles tightening, reacting now as she watched him with bated breath._

Cognizant of her every move, Tom chuckled and hovered over her for a beat before he kissed her soundly. "I love how turned on you are," he declared, his voice low, _intimate_ , as he hooked his hands under her knees and swiftly pulled her toward him. Rachel's breathless laugh danced in the thick night air as she reached for his cock and brushed his sensitive head along her seam, _up, down_ , he felt so good. "Hmm… open wider ...," he muttered; she relaxed her thighs as he closed the small distance between them.

 _Her hand was wrapped around his shaft now as he draped her calves over his thighs before he pitched forward and found her eyes and slowly began to ease his cock into her narrow channel – her delicate muscles stretching to accommodate him – compressing and massaging around him as he sank deeper and deeper into her recesses, her plentiful sex lubricating their machine ... his moan of satisfaction, in perfect harmony with hers._

 _Sighing in tandem, they adjusted to the feel of one another wherein Tom paused and placed his hands on either side of her torso – their hearts and bodies aligned now – intertwined, connected as she shifted and he began to move within her ... slow and steady … so enthralled was she by his intensity she dare not look away. And it was there inside that moment – with her name falling from his lips and his cock filling her up – that everything between them had become so real … and also so dreamlike … she almost forgot to breathe._

 _Bending his arms, he leaned forward and kissed her – and carefully rolling to his side as he hiked her left thigh up – desperate to maintain their connection as he pulsed his cock upwards and palmed her tush. Rachel pressed her lips to his chest and inhaled the essence of their sex, flicking her tongue across his nipple before she peered down and became somewhat awestruck by their machine at work – his gorgeous cock coated with her sex, her nerves functioning on overdrive – her body responsive to each of his measured pulses … in, out, his, hers … theirs._

 _"Like what you see?"_ Tom whispered into her ear, his lips pursed around her earlobe where he sucked on her flesh.

 _Her body trembled._ "Yes …," she breathed and found his eyes amidst the spell of their euphoric haze. "Deeper," was the only desire that came to mind.

 _Shifting, Tom pulsed up and she opened her hips wider, his mouth fused to hers – the crescendo of her orgasm building now as she slipped her hand between them and massaged her clit, up, down – the inertia of her animalistic desire for him taking control now as she seized his cock with systematic intensity and silently begged for more._

 _"Hmmm, let me ...,"_ came his low growl, his fingers joining hers. "I'm close ...," he husked breathlessly into her ear.

 _The hair on her neck bristled._ "So close …," she whispered, her breathing hitched.

 _Briefly slowing his tempo now, Tom gently rolled Rachel onto her back, his knees under her thighs now, his hooded eyes pinned to hers as he leaned on his hands and settled deeper into the apex of her aroused center – their union a perfect balance of lubricated friction – their minds and hearts and bodies open to everything they were predestined to feel for one another: love, acceptance ... and untamed desire._

 _He stared at her and she at him for a beat before he ducked down and pursed his lips around her nipple, flicking his tongue across her beaded flesh. Her body convulsed in response and her eyes rolled back. Her hips rose to meet his every plunge – wherein he growled and raised her left knee, tucking it under his forearm, thereby positioning her for deeper penetration – bestowing upon her now, exactly what she wanted: more of him._

 _"Tom …,"_ she heard her breathless call … and then everything … went blank and she lost herself completely.

 _Her heavy eyes were closed now. And she felt her lover press his thumb over her swollen clit, adding the perfect amount of pressure to hasten her orgasm. Craving more, Rachel moved her hips up to meet his strokes, the added pressure just enough for his cock to steadily bump against her cervix before her orgasm swiftly washed over her. Wherein those waves of transcendent pleasure left a tremulous wake in their path … the force of Tom's virility pushing her further under his spell as she felt him pound into her one last time before his body stiffened and his orgasm rocked them both into blissful oblivion … and back._

 _Where their whimpers of appreciation and praise were the soundtrack for the moment as they arrived at this sacred place they would come to love and cherish – that dream of a place that belonged solely to them – that place that had somehow become their fate and destiny._

 _Her dream was real. They had arrived._

 _And yet, her mind lacked focus, for the profound impact of their orgasms was still resonating now as she whispered his name again and he answered by rolling with her in his arms, his cock still submersed within her – their legs intertwined. His lips pressed to her crown now as he wrapped his arms around her and held her in place – keeping her, cradling her – for it seemed that he too, was desperate to hold onto their connection, to their orgasmic energy ... before they would invariably slip into the undertow of ecstasy._

 _Savoring him, her vaginal walls clamped around his cock then – her body desperately coveting him and this moment – where they remained perfectly aligned in mind, body and spirit. For the feeling of their lovemaking was like nothing else on this earth – and therein she found she had no words – no basis for comparison ... no proper way to describe the powerful nature of their relationship. And in the end, she was only left with the swell of love in her heart and a vibration of lust that smoldered deep within her core ... for him._

And on that thought, she opened her eyes and found Tom in the darkness, wherein he began to kiss her in earnest and she invariably relaxed her muscles and released his softening cock. He moaned in protest and pulled back, his handsome face flushed, his eyes wild … he whispered, "You're incredible."

Rachel's heart raced. "So are you," she breathed wherein an aftershock of desire coursed through her and she leaned up and kissed his perfect-fit lips, her hands flanking his skull for a beat, holding him inside the moment.

She watched his face soften until his smile reached his eyes. She sighed and positioned her head inside the crook of his neck where he began to smooth her wild tresses, his fingertips traveling along her spine, _up and down_. She sighed and her eyes closed on their own accord. Sated and happy under their spell, she felt Tom grow heavier in her arms too and only then did she feel as though she was home.

He shifted and drew her closer then, weaving his legs through hers, his hot lips pressed to her crown. _"I loved every minute of that,_ " came his confession then, gentle and true.

Rachel's eyes popped open and she craned her neck up to find him, "So did I."

He smiled and set his hand along her cheek. "Come here," he whispered his request.

 _And so she did. Leaning up she braced herself on her good elbow and kissed his chest and neck before she found his mouth and made love to him there without reservation. And inside those moments, so lost within the waves of their orgasms and deep feelings for one another ... they became truly found._

 _Both buoys for one another in this unpredictable world in which they lived. Finally, safe and sound and alive and well – and hidden deep inside an enclave on an island in the middle of the ocean – where they would remain wrapped around one another. All the while, living inside this dream of a lifetime ... the one that housed and protected them and their intrinsic connection to one another._

Sighing in tandem with her lover, Rachel settled back and into his loving embrace, her mind wild with everything and anything all at once: _life, death, lust, love, sand, surf ... baby._ Small tears pricked at her eyes. "Do you think it will always be this way?" she wondered, her voice quiet. "When we make love …," she whispered; and held her breath for his answer.

Tom held her close and rubbed her back. _"Yes, I do,"_ came his sincere reply.

 _Relaxing into his embrace, she pressed her lips over his heart and felt his muscle pulse against her mouth. She raised her eyes and held his unwavering gaze and stared at him then for a good long minute wherein all she could suddenly see was their future … this dream in the making. He smiled radiantly and she wondered if she'd ever seen him look this happy … or sated. And inside that moment, she realized, she hadn't._

"At the risk of sounding cliché …," she exhaled. "And overly emotional …," she smiled and he chuckled. "I've really fallen in love with you … _truly, madly_ …," she confessed, her cheeks heated and she suddenly felt shy. "I mean … I really adore you …," she chuckled. "And somehow … I can't fathom living without you now …," she smiled; her lips quivered and betrayed her.

Tom reached for her, wasting no time before he closed the small distance between them, brushing his lips against hers, his kiss, soft and quick and reassuring. "That's good ...," he hushed, pressing his mouth to the underside of her neck. _"Because I'm crazy about you … and I love you ... truly ….,"_ he whispered into her ear; her core vibrated. _"More than I imagined I ever would ... or could ... you amaze me ...,"_ he murmured.

 _Rachel's heart bleated, 'he loves me' was all she could think as she blinked her waiting tears into recession – and came to find his eyes, wet with emotion – before she brushed her nose against his and began to kiss him, long and hard and everything in between. Where they indeed held each other close – just as they had from the moment they entered this sanctuary on this night – with their eyes wide open and heat and passion pricking their skin._

 _Where they would come to yield to their whims and emotional dependencies for one another ... the new lovers sought only to maintain their connection now – that perfect synchronization of their bodies, minds and spirits – with no storms on the horizon ... or burials to attend to ... or viruses to chase ... for there inside those precious moments alone only this remained: the waves as they crashed along the shoreline, the quiet stars as they twinkled in the deep night sky, the lonely bright blue moon perched high above them ... their mutual love and adoration for one another … and their dream of forever: their true heart's desires._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 24**

He should sleep given the day ahead of them. He he knew that … but he couldn't. For his senses were on high alert – _his connective energy with Rachel, the scent of their lovemaking, still pervaded their asylum_ – where he found himself in deep thought about his arrival at this juncture ... this profound moment in time foretold by Rachel's dreams.

Cradling her, he absentmindedly pressed his lips to her crown and listened for the faint staccato of her breathing – _her head resting on his chest, her good shoulder tucked flush against his rib cage, her arm draped over his abdomen, their legs intertwined_ – he sighed and traced his fingertips along her spine as she slept on and into the night without worry. Her prior evening woes, gone for now ... muted by the euphoria of their intimacy.

 _Closing his eyes now, Tom once again ruminated about fate and destiny – his mind landing on Darien for a beat – wherein his thoughts seamlessly gravitated to Rachel and all they'd become to one another … and in instant. For making steadfast love to Rachel felt completely innate and pure of heart – though he'd be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that until a few hours ago, he might have believed it was too soon – too soon to love to her the way he did … so naturally … and with such fervent intimacy. But the truth was, committing to her was indeed effortless … and honest ... and genuinely raw and uncensored. It was succinct – and different and special – but no less meaningful than his years in making love with Darien._

 _And in the truest sense of himself, Tom understood and accepted now that neither woman or his love for either, was diminished because of the other. For in actuality, in the deepest chambers of his heart ... he loved them both, very much._

Rachel shifted in his arms but he kept his eyes closed – _feigning sleep, and not for his sake_ – but for hers. For he was well aware of how in tune she was with him and before long she would wake and inquire of his state of mind. And although he was quite content to bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking, he knew she would perceive his lack of sleep to mean he was troubled … and she would want answers. And while he had his concerns about the forthcoming day and her emotional well-being – _and the looming fallout from the reality of the swift ending of her unexpected reunion with her father_ – he also knew she would carry with her a small sliver of self-doubt when it came to the sudden shift in their relationship.

 _And on that thought, Rachel moved again, instinctively kissing the underside of his neck before she settled back and into his embrace, her grasp just a little tighter for a beat before she relaxed again and remained asleep. Tom opened his eyes and inhaled sharply, listening now to the echo of the low tide waves as they rolled along the shoreline, his eyes darting around the small space, the deep night shadows fading slightly as the predawn light began to filter through the endless sky above them._

 _###_

 _Having slept hard for thirty minutes, Tom awoke with a start to find Rachel watching him – her lean body fishtailed over his – her angular chin resting on his chest … her eyes softening as he came around. She exhaled and despite her position – tucked deep within their shadowy corner of the world – he could tell her cheeks were flushed with a sated happiness he hadn't seen before. But only when that whimsical smile appeared along her face and he'd spotted a glimpse of that hidden sparkle nestled deep inside her ochre eyes … did he render himself, captivated._

Seeking her warmth, he chuckled and drew her near. "You caught me," he whispered playfully, his baritone laden with sleep.

"I suppose I did," she smiled; her melodic laugh bounced between them as she pressed a kiss to his chest, her lips lingering. _His heart thumping, chasing her touch._ "And I'm glad for it …," she went on, her brow slightly knitted. "You didn't sleep well," she persisted evenly, her voice catching.

Tom pressed his lips together and breathed. "I got enough … off and on," he answered candidly. He exhaled and she burrowed deeper into their innate heat, her supple lips grazing his neck, his fingertips dancing along the smooth plane of her back. "I regret I kept you up," he whispered, pressing his lips to her halo; her hair smelled of coconut and sex: _his body woke up._

 _"You didn't,"_ she breathed against his pulse. She shifted in his arms again and this time kissed the underside of his neck; his taut muscles relaxed. _"I'm all right ...,"_ she whispered then, her fingertips tracing the curves of his rib cage, up and down.

"Just all right?" he teased playfully. "After last night?" he chortled, palming her toned tush, she gasped in response and held his gaze. "You better be more than all right," he chuckled thickly and waited for her to blush, her happy eyes dancing with his now.

Sighing, she leaned up and whispered. "I _am_ happy ... and you _know_ I am." She moved and set her hand on the plane of his cheek, holding him close wherein she whispered into his ear. _"You felt so good … so much better than my dreams … a perfect fit … everything was perfect …,"_ she praised, her voice sultry and smooth.

 _Responsive energy, inherent and feral, coursed through Tom's body then and therein he officially woke up – his cock responding her erotic prose, tenting his boxers, his heart racing to catch up with her – his mind wild with the idea of this thing between them ... and how it would evolve to last ... forever._

He turned his head and kissed her lips, soft, quick and teased her again, "Hmm … _'perfect'_ is one word for it."

 _###_

Having quickly showered, Tom left Rachel behind so he could wake the kids. He gently closed the door behind him and stepped into the hallway. A dim light from the main room illuminated the space and he bypassed the kids' room for now and found his team situated around the large coffee table – _a long line of folded uniforms situated along the credenza behind them_ – he smiled and waved to Cait where she was quietly working in the kitchen. She smiled radiantly and then returned to her task. He approached the men – _noting they were no worse the wear_ – for they appeared to have gotten some decent shuteye.

"Gentlemen," he greeted smoothly, interrupting their quiet discussion. "How are we?" he prompted evenly.

"Good morning," Mike replied with a smile.

"Good morning, Sir," Russ smiled. "The tide is low and the sky is clear, due east at about five nautical miles," he reported.

Nodding in assent, Tom sat down next to Mike. "I'd like to get started from here in about an hour," he calculated.

Mike smiled tightly and answered, "Sounds like a plan."

Tom smiled in return, all the while looking for signs of fatigue from his Executive Officer, though he noticed nothing unusual – _for as crestfallen as he was to admit it_ – the _'new normal'_ had indeed resonated with his crew and nothing they seemed to encounter now, truly compared to those tense and tumultuous months spent upon the Nathan James in pursuit of the cure.

He sighed with resignation. "And the quarantine? Nothing unexpected overnight?" he prompted.

Mike nodded to Burk and Green, the sailors shook their heads and Green spoke up, "Nothing, Sir ... no lingering signs of the virus ... or unrest of any sort," he reported.

"And Kara, how is she?" he asked of Lieutenant Foster.

Danny beamed, "She's well, Sir ... feeling better now that we've spoken."

Tom smiled tightly and quietly observed Lieutenant Green – _his persona undeniably more at ease this morning_ – the dark circles gone from his eyes, a hopeful optimism etched into his smile now. For one phone call from a loved one at home or far away could do that … it could restore faith within minutes. And on that thought, he turned to Colonel Holbrooke and noticed that he too, appeared to be more well-rested. And for those small blessings, he was thankful.

 _And then – much to his surprise – he was met with an unexpected realization: how different might he look to the quiet observer this morning? Was he too, more well-rested and at ease following his spiritual and physical connection with Rachel? His own conclusion: yes, he most certainly was._

Burk cleared his throat. "It's very peaceful down at the camp now, no distress signals, Sir … patients are healing at exponential rates comparable to the Subic Bay quarantine," he corroborated.

 _Tom nodded and suddenly noticed a maturity in Lieutenant Burk that hadn't been there when they first left Norfolk. Alas, war and catastrophic losses could do that to a sailor. Mature a man, and seemingly overnight. But so could beating the odds and curing the world. He pressed his lips into a contemplative line. For the facts were the facts. And so he sighed on these truths and once again privately acknowledged their victories and defeats. For what else could he do?_

Moving on, he nodded in assent to the team. "And Harley? Did he continue to document our progress?" he persisted, for empirical proof of their mission's success was still of utmost importance.

"Absolutely," Mike interjected. "He hasn't missed a beat," he concluded.

Tom smiled tightly, "Good, excellent." He exhaled. "I'm fairly certain Rachel will want to make another pass-through down there after our proceedings this morning ...," he thought aloud.

"We'll go as a group," Mike suggested then. "And have Harley document our visit, take some photographs of Rachel with some of the patients ... if she's up for it," he went on.

"That's a fine idea," Tom answered. "Master Chief, any thoughts on that?" he asked of him.

"I'm in agreement, Sir ... I believe Dr. Scott might be drawn to focus on the good and the mending of the human spirit ...," he asserted wisely.

Cait approached with a tray of much needed coffee then. She smiled at Tom and set her wares down. "Good morning, Captain," she sang softly, her dark hair braided and pulled away from her face.

"Good morning Cait," he replied. "Thank you for the coffee ... _and_ for the fresh uniforms ...," he beamed and watched her blush.

Mike smiled and looked up to her. "I'll add to that by saying how truly nice it's been to be pleasantly surprised ...," he offered, his serious eyes softening around the edges. "It's been a long time since we've been bestowed with such nice gestures ...," he praised.

"It's been a sincere pleasure, gentlemen, and I mean that," she nodded, her blue-green eyes glassy now. "I'm going to prepare a small pot of tea for Rachel ... perhaps you'll take it to her?" she asked of Tom, he nodded in assent. And then she promptly turned to Dan, "Oh, Colonel, I've forgotten your sweetener!"

He began to protest, "Cait –"

But she cut him off, "No. I'll be right back." She smiled and made her way back to the kitchen with haste.

"She doesn't miss a beat either," Dan chuckled, looking after her.

Tom smiled, "No, she doesn't." The men prepared their coffee and a collective sigh of appreciation fell over the room as they partook. "Good stuff," he commented.

 _And then all was quiet for a moment – each man surely reflecting on the day ahead – the contrast of life and death so prevalent in their tasks as they were laid out before them._

 _Inhaling sharply, Tom found pleasure in the island essences he now expected with each cleansing breath he took – today mostly comprised of pineapple – and something else, maybe oranges. He smiled to himself and watched the sky outside become a shade lighter, the whirl of the overhead fan lulling him for a beat. Cleansing his lungs once more, he inhaled the island sweetness ... and then it hit him._

He chuckled and turned his attention to Mike. "I think your uniform smells like pineapples," he muttered.

Mike deadpanned, "So does yours."

Tom raised his arm, pressed his nose into his forearm and inhaled. Miller snickered and Green gave him a stern look. Cait appeared with the sugar.

"Colonel," she smiled and handed the jar to him.

"Thank you, Cait," he chuckled.

"And yes," she chortled, "You all might notice that …," she added pointedly. "I use pineapple juice, taken from the machinated flesh of the fruit very close to the skin and add it to my house-made laundry powder," she announced with a small smile.

Tom chuckled, "You don't say."

"I _do_ say," she smiled. "A long time ago, a local elder gave me a lesson on how to use the _entire_ fruit or vegetable – _even the skin and core, the sections we might normally toss away_ – at any rate, pineapple has a protein derivative that somehow translates into a good fabric softener," she explained with a wry grin. "Hence the lift in your uniforms."

Tom held her gaze. "You're really something else, Cait," he admired.

She sighed. "Well living on this island as long as I have ... life is an adventure, even when it comes to laundry," she chuckled.

 _###_

After coaxing the kids out of bed and absorbing their innocent exuberance – _Tom left them to get dressed and fetched a cup of tea for Rachel_ – walking carefully with the hot elixir in his hands, he gently pushed on their bedroom door and slipped inside. The room was quiet and a soft yellow light floated throughout from the bathroom door, left ajar.

"Rachel," he called softly.

 _"Be right out,"_ came her muffled reply.

He sighed and cased the sanctuary, evidence of their lovemaking strewn across the bed. He smiled and set the tea cup down and began to straighten the bed linens. The room became a shade lighter and the air, already laden with humidity, became warmer. Walking around the bed, his eyes landed on Rachel's medical record, which sat on the opposite bedside table now. Leaning down, he picked a pillow up from the floor, his eyes traveling up the crack of the bathroom door as he did.

He spotted Rachel there, leaning against the edge of the sink – _her eyes, downcast, focused_ – wherein he realized she was engrossed in something he couldn't see … her toothbrush, idle in her mouth. He chuckled and then she looked up, her eyes meeting his through the mirror in front of her. She smiled and rinsed her mouth before she turned and opened the door.

"Hi …," she said breathlessly, her wild hair down – _she had donned a pair of blue jeans and dark brown tank top_ – her eyes were bright and luminous … and therein he noted: _she looked different too … centered, balanced, sated … and sexy as all hell._

"I brought a cup of tea for you," he said as he retrieved the cup, still warm to the touch.

"Thank you," she breathed, taking an appreciative small sip.

His interest piqued, his eyes darted to her medical record and he proceeded casually, "Everything all right?"

She sighed and he watched her falter slightly. "Yes … just reviewing something, a date … I'm all right … truly I am ...," she rambled on – _her cheeks blushed a rosy pink_ – her soulful eyes tenaciously pinned to his now.

He smiled and raised her chin, pressing a quick kiss upon her full lips before he took the cup from her and set it down, seamlessly folding her into the envelope of his arms where they silently restored their connection and all became quiet. Unwilling to overwhelm her, he pressed his chin to her halo and gently reinforced, "I'm here if you need me."

Tilting her head up she found his eyes and kissed his lips. "And I have no greater comfort than knowing you are," she whispered.

 _His heart raced_ _and he cupped her face in his hands then and she nodded in assent. She didn't say anything more and he felt he didn't have to either – for she was a complex woman and the day ahead of her was imminent now – and would certainly be surreal and profound in its own rite ... and so he let her be and kissed her instead. Her warm minty cavern in perfect sync with his – their tempo slow, the world promptly falling away – his tongue teasing hers ... kiss, kiss until she sucked in a deep breath and pulled back, her laugh bouncing between them now._

"What?" he smirked, smoothing her silky hair back and away from her face.

She blushed and declared quizzically, "It's your uniform ... it smells like fruit."

Tom snorted, his eyes still dancing with hers, "Pineapples to be exact."

Rachel beamed, "Yes … that's it … why?"

"It's Cait's homemade laundry detergent," he chuckled. "We all smell like pineapples," he smirked.

A therein a whimsical smile formed on her face and she stole his breath away again. "How about that ... the surprises on this island never seem to end," she exhaled and held his gaze. "Kiss me again," she whispered ardently.

 _And so he did – he kissed her as the sun rose higher and the island slowly began to wake up – the birds' intermittent chirps, twirling throughout the fragrant air, the morning mist surely evaporating along the coast. Rachel's pliant body, flush against his as she returned his kisses tenfold. Her intensity matching his – her good arm raised, her hand set along his chin – his fingertips laced though her long tresses where he tilted her head to meet his every whim._

Slowing his tempo, he pulled back and met her intense gaze, their breathing stacked as his hands worked through her hair. "You do have time to shower, you know …," he said, realizing that her hair was still dry.

She smiled weakly, her cheeks flushed with health as she peered up to him, her eyes turning a shade darker. "Later …," she whispered thickly before she kissed him again. _"After ... everything ...,"_ she muttered against his mouth. _"Alone ... and hopefully ... with you ...,"_ she sighed breathlessly.

"Hmm, you're insatiable," he flirted, his eyes pinned to hers now as his desire for her mounted: _wild, untamed ... infinite._

"And that's your fault," was all she said before she kissed him again.

 _###_

 _Tom stood alongside Russ now at the helm of the docked sixty-foot sailing yacht they commandeered to use for the burial. According to Cait, the vessel belonged to a middle-aged couple that had stayed on Flora Island many times, recalling she'd last seen them nine months ago when they left the keys with her and fled the island, both feeling feverish at the time of their departure. Sadly, Tom imagined there were a great many stories with such endings: ambiguous disappearances, mysterious circumstances ... unrecorded deaths._

Sighing, he looked about the yacht again – _'Happy Endings' was her name_ – wherein he paused and reflected on the irony of that chosen moniker now, after everything. Though she had certainly endured – _having been moored here alone_ – firmly holding her own throughout the monsoon season. Likely left untouched by a great many looters due to lack of diesel fuel and perhaps pure intimidation – _for she was an impressive vessel, modern in technology, and while her operation was not complicated_ – her sails were semi-automatic along with a great many of her other motors, and this, Tom saw as a deterrent.

Regardless, as fate would have it, she was left behind – _and after having been cleaned by his crew yesterday_ – she was indeed restored to her former glory. Grounding himself now, Tom's eyes swept the endless horizon, the marine layer still hovering – _the bright sun already reflecting a sheen of diamond trillions atop the ocean's surface_ – the tide still low and calm ... an otherwise gorgeous day at sea.

He sighed and turned around, watching now as Mike directed the team on the placement of Reverend Scott's body, positioned on a long plank of wood – _carefully wrapped in a sailcloth in accordance with Naval protocols_ – the man he once was, finally at peace now as they carefully moved him from the edge of the weathered dock and lay him down at the end of the sleek decks.

 _Inhaling sharply – Tom cautiously avoided his disquietude – his own symbolic burial for Darien brought to his forefront again where he came to accept her fate. And therein he felt a small tug upon his heartstrings and silently mourned her death – treading water now, he rose above his sorrow and abruptly turned away – his watery gateways scanning the coastline for his beacon of hope ... still no sign of Rachel and the kids._

 _With his eyes transfixed, he lost himself inside the euphoric beauty of his surroundings – the pristine white sand, still smooth from the overnight high tide, the palm fronds swaying heavily in the humid nautical breeze, the tropical essence as it cleansed his lungs – and just like that, the last of the tension and unrest was alleviated from the island … and all that remained was the peace and seclusion Rachel encountered as a child … and later cherished, deep inside her wildest dreams._

Cait appeared on the beach then, her arms encircling a large storage container. "Miller," Tom called and the young man appeared. "Please offer to assist Cait," he ordered with a tight smile.

"Yes, Sir," the fresh-faced sailor nodded in assent.

"She's certainly full of surprises," Russ chortled, his eyes pinned to their hostess.

Tom turned to his esteemed Master Chief and smiled, "And always prepared, I admire that," he praised. Mike approached and he redirected his attention to the task at hand and declared, "I don't want to inter the reverend from the stern."

"What are you thinking? From the swimming platform?" Mike intuited, his eyes keen, alert.

Green and Burk approached. Tom nodded in assent. "Yes ... we'll lower him once we get out there and idle, following the ceremony," he breathed.

"It'll be less of a drop … but no less swift," Russ pondered softly.

"Exactly," Tom muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line, for the swift ending to a burial at sea upon the James was quite different than one from a smaller vessel – _and while neither was no less dramatic and final than the other_ – an interment off of this vessel would be far more intimate and jarring to the senses.

Green spoke up, "I'll head below deck with Burk once we idle out there ... Cruz and Miller we'll lower the platform."

"I'll head below deck then too and remain in place for the committal," Mike offered evenly.

Tom smiled curtly at his old friend, for his intuition to plan for him to remain on deck with Rachel and the children was spot on. "Sounds ideal," he agreed with a nod. "Better check the hydraulics on that platform motor then," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Green answered.

Tom nodded in assent and peered back toward the stern, the sun bouncing off of the deck there. He looked up, squinting under his cap at the sky, bright and blue. "Even though we don't need her … let's raise that main sail, get some shade on the body," he suggested tightly.

Mike turned to Cruz then, a flash of a boyish grin on his face, "Yes, let's raise that sail. I bet she's a beauty."

"Yes, Sir," nodded Cruz enthusiastically.

The men smiled, for she really was a beautiful vessel. And with that, Green and Burk took their leave, en-route to complete those operational tests on the hydraulic swim platform.

"I'll leave the two of you to talk semantics," Mike said then. "Looks like Cait has made some refreshments," he presumed, nodding towards Miller as he made his final approach on the dock, Cait following close behind.

She smiled as Russ took her hand and helped her aboard, "Thank you, Master Chief."

"A pleasure," he replied.

"I thought it would be nice for you all to have some refreshments – _there's a decanter of iced tea, sweet rice cakes and fruit salad in here_ – along with flatware, bowls, cups and napkins – perhaps Ensign Miller could point me to the galley so I can set that up … and then I'll be out of your hair," she went on, her endless smile intact.

Tom tilted his head and asked, "You're not planning to join us?"

She sighed, "I'm afraid not." And then she smiled. "I've spoken with Rachel …," she began. "And after some debate … I've talked her into allowing me to stay behind so I might prepare a light meal for you all upon your return," she explained. "She requested something simple for your team as well as Bautista's men …," she said softly.

Tom smiled and inhaled sharply, "I see." His heart raced as he pressed his lips together and nodded. "I'm sure whatever you come up with will be perfect," he said sincerely, though he privately wondered if a special luncheon would do more harm than good to Rachel.

"Captain," Cait sighed and stepped forward. She set her hand upon his forearm and looked him square in the eyes. "Rachel really is fine … our debate had more to do with my missing the burial than preparing a luncheon …," she intuited. "I fear I would not have time to complete my preparations, so I decided to stay behind ... whereas she would have preferred I come along this morning," she explained. Tom held his tongue and blinked. Cait smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure as long as you and the children ... and your team is there to support her … she will hold her head up high and endure …," she said with admiration.

Tom exhaled and smiled at their new friend, "Thank you, Cait … _again_ , for everything."

 _###_

 _Alone again, Tom and Russ moved to the bow to discuss the ceremonial semantics. The sun was higher in the sky and while the marine layer had burned off the coast, it lingered out at sea, dancing over the ocean's surface … endless and calm … a deep, sparkling blue with secrets of its own … and therein he was reminded how stunning the ocean could be._

"It's a beautiful morning at sea, Sir," Russ began. Tom nodded and they sighed in tandem, their eyes pinned upon the wild blue yonder. He probed gently, "What are your thoughts?"

"I'll begin...," Tom offered, his thoughts circulating. "And start with some quick remarks – _I'd like to remain perfunctory, but gracious_ – and try to make the ceremony as easy as possible for Rachel," he said, stating the obvious.

Russ agreed, his tone smooth and somber, "Sounds suitable ... I'm planning to follow standard protocols for committal and worship." He paused and turned to Tom. "And the gun salute?" he asked quizzically.

"Negative on that ... he wasn't Navy," Tom answered pointedly.

"Point taken," his Master Chief agreed. "I assume we'll lower him after your speech then?" he went on.

"Yes ... and in doing so the timing of his committal will be seamless," Tom calculated.

Russ nodded in assent and the pair was silent again for a moment. Tom turned and walked toward the port side deck, his eyes trained on the coastline again. His thoughts wild with implication regarding the odd combination of events that positioned him here ... _now_ – _with Rachel and his kids in tow ... along with his father_ – at her father's unexpected interment. And while it all _seemed_ so surreal – _at the same time the circumstances had been so carefully woven together_ – that they could only have been meant to be. The wind picked up and gently pulled him from his reverie ... and then he saw them.

"Here they come now," Russ exhaled.

 _Tom nodded but held his tongue, observing with interest now as Rachel appeared first, his heart softening when he noticed she had her arm draped along Ashley's shoulders and her opposite hand intertwined with Sam's. Emotion funneled to his surface as he imprinted that image in his mind's eye – because somehow, he didn't want to forget this moment – and because in some unfathomable way, Rachel suddenly seemed so ... maternal. Her body language said it all – the way she leaned down and into Ashley – and how she appeared to be so captivated by whatever the young girl was prattling on about._

 _He pressed his lips together, watching now as Harley, his father, Bautista and his men joined the procession – their jaunt methodical and pensive as they walked on – their keen eyes pinned to the horizon. Tom sighed and turned his attention back to Rachel and the kids as they slowly moved closer, their facial expressions almost visible now and made of wide, cautious eyes and polite smiles._

 _Rachel looked up suddenly then and Tom could tell she was searching for him. His heart alighted as he raised his hand and she promptly raised hers in return – her smile no less radiant – her intuitiveness to find him, essential ... for she needed him and somehow that further solidified their union._

Tom glanced at Russ and paused before speaking further, his circular thoughts meandering now: _fate, destiny, family, death, life ... survival_. He inhaled and shook his head. "You know ... you were right the other day ...," he finally exhaled.

"About ...," Russ replied.

"You reminded me how resilient kids can be ...," Tom said, silently grounding himself. "I mean ... I don't know if _'happy'_ is the word I'm looking for ... but maybe, _'comfortable'_ is ... they seem so ... at ease ...," he exhaled.

"They're adapting – _and they trust Rachel_ – and have come to depend upon one another … as families do," Russ supposed, his intuition sharp as a tack.

Tom smiled and acknowledged, "And I find more and more ... that I do like the sound of that … of _us_ … as a family."

 _For he had observed his kids and father and they way they interacted with Rachel – especially since their reunion here – and to the naked eye ... a person passing them by would indeed consider them a family. For a shift had occurred whilst they were on Subic Bay, one that somehow foretold what they had become to one another on this morning, here: engaged and holding onto one another ... as if they'd always done so. His heart alighted and he set his hand along the smooth railing in front of him, unruly emotion found his eyes and therein he blinked rapidly to hasten his recovery._

Russ exhaled. "That day out on the deck … after we first looked into Flora Island ...," he paused, enunciating slowly. "I remember you saying that Rachel called this place _'euphoric'_ ... and that her dreams of the island were _'profound'_ ...," he went on softly, his eyes still pinned to the coastline.

"She did ...," Tom nodded.

Russ inclined his head and wondered, "Her father's death aside – _do you believe she's been able to come to terms with her dreams_ – and this childhood pedestal she set this island upon?"

Tom exhaled, his heart pinching him in all the right places, "I do, Russ."

"You appear to be well, Tom ... not as _conflicted_ as you were while Rachel was recovering in the hospital," he smiled. "And I'm glad for you, old friend ... so very glad," he added softly.

His heart pounded and he trained his eyes on the kids' faces as they moved closer, scrutinizing every move they made, searching for signs of duress. He sighed and turned to his confidant. "I am well ... we all are it seems …," he whispered his truths.

Russ nodded. "Considering Rachel's keen intuition ... may I ask ... was her father the ' _he'_ she'd been looking for when she awoke from her coma?" he queried softly.

Tom's heart arrested and he held Russ's gaze. "No," he answered candidly. "She was desperate to find ... a baby ... a boy …," he exhaled, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Her son?" Russ whispered, his dark eyes, unwavering and without judgment.

Tom nodded in assent and held his breath. "Our son ...," he released his lungs and smiled weakly, his heart bleating – _'Where is he?'_ – Rachel's maternal shrill of a demand still resonating, even now. Unearthed emotion found his eyes.

Russ shook his head and a small whimsical smile cascaded along his serious face. "Life ... it certainly has proved to be unpredictable … and filled with surprises, both big ... and small …," he sighed.

Tom nodded in assent, "That it is, old friend."

"And I feel I must say... that this mission here on this island has been transformative ... not only for you and Rachel ... but for Harley, perhaps lost ... and Holbrooke, seemingly in mourning ... and Bautista, looking for redemption… and for us … to spread the cure … and see this thing through for the miracle it is …," he smiled, his emotive eyes glassy now. "What a wondrous and wild adventure … and my ... how categorically … _'profound'_ and _'euphoric'_ it has been thus far ...," he breathed.

Tom blinked hastily and pressed his lips together in an effort to maintain his composure. He shook his head and stared at his old friend and absorbed his sage words ... one resonating above all others: _'transformative'_.

"Indeed it is ... perhaps fate and destiny have gotten their way after all …," Tom supposed, his smile reaching his eyes as Sam waved to him and he waved in return, all the while training his eyes on his woman's steadfast gaze as she doted on his son.

"I believe you're right," Russ also smiled.

 _###_

Following the bustle of activity once the procession arrived – _idle, polite conversation full of condolences and support, small smiles of encouragement along with Cait's swift departur_ e – Tom sought a moment alone with Rachel now. After checking in with Green and Burk on the status of the hydraulic motor, he made his way below deck where Rachel and the kids were said to be relaxing, a smile adoring his face when he heard their excitable whispers coming from the master cabin.

He came to stand at the doorway – _the cabin, both large and impressive, was handsomely decorated as classic sailing yachts were_ – this one, with gray textiles and navy blue trim, the fabric, surely all-weather, everything in place with hinges or tucked in just so to maintain order. Presently, the kids were looking through the narrow port side window, their sights set on an island jetty they hadn't seen before from the coast. Rachel was leaning down behind Sam, peering into his window with him. Ashley righted herself then and spotted Tom.

"Hi Dad," she beamed and walked straight into his arms.

"Hi," he said as he held her close and Rachel and Sam turned around.

Sam smiled broadly, "This is pretty neat, Dad ... it's so different than the Nathan James."

Tom held his excitable gaze and answered, "You got that right, buddy."

Ashley rolled out of his embrace and said, "Dad, if we promise not to touch anything, can we look in the other cabins?"

Tom smiled. "Sure ... but stay close and below deck, the crew is completing some last minute engine checks," he warned.

"We will," she answered and Sam enthusiastically nodded in assent. She turned to Rachel and smiled softly, "I really think today will be very nice."

Rachel smiled and held her gaze, "I think you're right, sweet girl."

 _And with that, the kids slipped out of the cabin and Rachel turned into Tom's waiting embrace. Exhaling in tandem, neither made a move to speak, rather they swayed together – eyes closed, hearts open, they cherished their bond – their minds quieting down now while their spirits were simultaneously lifted. Inhaling her essence – coconut and Cait's tea and the salt of the earth – Tom found himself seamlessly centered and balanced._

He sighed and smoothed his fingertips through her dark locks and whispered, "I too, think today will be very nice."

Craning her neck back, Rachel found his eyes and smiled weakly, "I'm feeling better about it."

 _Turning, she quickly glanced at the doorway behind her before she brazenly kissed his cheek. Her lips lingering. Smirking, he only held her tighter, his eyes pinned to the doorway for a beat longer before he ducked down and kissed her soundly, her gasp of surprise muted by their oral union. His rhythm gentle, yet deliberate – her body suddenly pliant in his arms as he skillfully made love to her mouth – the world and its woes and the task before them ... gone for now._

 _His heart raced._ "That's better," he whispered against her mouth before he pulled back to take a good look at her.

"Much," she whispered her reply, her cheeks flushed with health, her faceted eyes: _clear, endless ... brilliant._

And then, just like that, she smiled radiantly – _one of those grins she seemed to save for him_ – and so enthralled was he by her now, that he could only whisper her name, "Rachel."

Her breathless laugh bounced between them for a beat and she stared at him still. " _'Happy Endings',_ Tom ... really?", she husked playfully, her soulful eyes glassy now.

He smiled and nodded in assent, fully captivated by her and their endless possibilities, wherein he simply whispered, "We're getting there."

 ** _To be continued ..._**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 25**

 _The cooler wind was pleasant and the ocean was calm as they made their sojourn – the marine layer separating in their wake as 'Happy Endings' skimmed across the open waters – the hum of her motors, a mere chant of elation after being moored upon Flora Island for months on end._

Presently, Tom stood alongside his XO in the cockpit, his steady gaze following his team's, for every sailor had his eyes pinned to the horizon – _Green, Burk, Miller and Cruz in formation around the reverend's body_ – Master Chief positioned alongside them. Rachel, the kids and his father sat comfortably behind the cockpit with Bautista – _his smooth voice, reverberating as he spoke to his captive audience about Palawan Island and its peaceful history_ – his words heartfelt, his sentiments apropos given those feelings were shared by both Rachel and her father ... feelings that evoked memories of deep-rooted spiritual awakenings … the finest moments they shared together more than a lifetime ago.

 _Squinting under his cap, Tom turned now to observe Mike at the starboard helm and smiled to himself, for if there was one thing his old friend enjoyed, it was an at-sea adventure … especially one that didn't involve an intense and unforeseen need to fight for his life ... and protect his shipmates ... and save the world. And therein Tom noticed – that at least for the moment – the acute sadness etched along his stony face had dissolved somewhat and he looked more like his true self, the version of himself he was before they sailed away from Norfolk: happy to be at sea, his woes with Christine, behind him for the moment, while he let himself off the hook for his part of the discord in their union, at times, tumultuous._

Casually, he turned to check on Rachel now, her left hand cradling her right elbow, her eyes fixed to Bautista's though he could tell her beautiful mind was somewhere far, far away ... and therein he wondered what she was thinking and if she took a Motrin this morning. He sighed and looked back to Master Chief whom nodded in assent – _a cue taken by Slattery as well as he reduced his speed and they leisurely sailed on and forward for a clip or two_ – the cool wind and Bautista's baritone dying down as they did … the world suddenly quiet, save for the low hum of the engines and the deep blue sea as it lapped against _'Happy Endings'._

Mike idled the vessel and reported their GPS coordinates; a perfunctory declaration of the degrees, decimals and minutes of their latitude and longitude. Tom recorded the coordinates in the Captain's Log Book, duplicating the entry on a page at the back of the book. When finished, he ripped the spare copy from the log and discretely slipped it into the breast pocket of his uniform. Turning, he found Rachel's expectant gaze and nodded in assent. She stood and came to stand beside him _– her face stoic, she inhaled sharply and held her breath_ – Jed and the children rose with Bautista and the men at the stern turned to face them.

The sun was higher in the sky, but the marine layer lingered even still, intensifying the eerie feeling to the morning. Harley and Holbrooke emerged from below deck and came to stand behind the children – _the quiet surrounding them, suddenly so loud it jarred their senses_ – the ocean, calm and serene, despite the impending interment. Harley moved forward and casually shot several photos. Tom smiled weakly at Rachel and she nodded slowly; he pressed his lips together and cleared his throat.

"I would like to begin by offering a sincere thanks in friendship to Lieutenant General Bautista," Tom began diplomatically. Bautista nodded in assent. "Although the moments we will spend upon this vessel this morning are unexpected, we appreciate your support and kindness at this time of personal reflection for Dr. Scott," he exhaled. Bautista turned to Rachel wherein he bowed slightly. Rachel smiled at his chivalrous gesture and Tom continued, "In keeping with US Navy tradition and protocol, Master Chief Jeter will officiate the worship and committal ceremonies … but before he proceeds, I would like to take the opportunity to say a few words." He inhaled and rested his eyes upon the reverend's body for a beat. "Words of ... fate and destiny and the ancient practice of burial at sea ...," he sighed. "An honor requested by a great many sailors in times of peace … and a necessity for a great many more in times of war …," he paused and privately reflected on those they lost, his men looking on with a grave understanding of that necessity. He continued, "Though neither committal is diminished by the other – _for desire versus necessity in this case, both end the same_ – with a passing out to sea as the earth's lifecycle continues …," he breathed and trained his eyes on Rachel now. "And while Reverend Scott was not a sailor– _he was a devoted visitor to this island and the surrounding seas_ – where he had realized his greatest pleasures … both as a man and a father ... and in an effort to memorialize those good memories, he chose this burial for himself …," he sighed and caught his breath, holding his father's gaze for a beat now before he focused on Ashley and Sam, their innocent eyes searching his. "And while we did not know one another for more than a few days, he and I … all of us here know Dr. Scott – _and although she and Reverend Scott did not see eye-to-eye on a great many ideals_ – it was precisely those differences that groomed her to become the woman she is today ...," he went on, his chest tight with emotion now. "The woman, whom many proclaim … is our savior ... while some chant … she is a saint …...," he smiled tightly, his glassy eyes moving over the small crowd of trusted friends. "And so as I stand here ... I honor Reverend Scott …," he exhaled and pinned his eyes to Rachel's, holding her close without touching her at all. "I do …," he incited firmly. "Regardless of that long-standing stalemate between father and daughter – _because in the end, fate and destiny have landed us here_ – and because, long ago ... Reverend Scott created indelible memories on this island and in these waters with his young daughter ... where it turned out … they _did_ agree on _one_ matter … the precious nature of those times spent here … _together_ … times that were cherished for a lifetime, having never been forgotten," he surmised, a small smile etched along his face now.

 _He blinked and turned to Rachel – watching her carefully now as she naturally reached for Ashley's hand – while he searched for a crack in her veneer, though one never materialized. She smiled weakly at him – and her eyes, though glassy with unshed emotion – were both keen and alert and told him everything he needed to know: that she was indeed all right. And therein, he felt certain she would eventually be fine – for she had a moment with her father after all – and Tom would have liked to believe her life, moving forward, would be much better for it._

 _And then quite abruptly, he saw so clearly now why it was all meant to be – for simply knowing that this uncharted mission had somehow settled a lifetime of uncertainty, regret and guilt … for her (regardless of bringing the cure to the island) – was enough. It was enough to know that the meaning of this mission had far surpassed anything he'd ever hoped to accomplish. He found himself smiling at her then and imagined himself holding her close later ... and alone in their room. She smiled weakly in return. Harley snapped a photograph and the shutter broke their spell._

The ceremonial protocols moved swiftly then as Mike nodded in assent to the men assembled around the the body whom moved in tandem and gently placed the plank upon the swim platform. Harley craned his body forward, peering through his lens as he leaned upon the starboard railing and took several shots. Green nodded in assent to Tom before he and Burk headed below deck. Mike nodded curtly as well before he glanced at Rachel and made his departure, where he would join Green and Burk for the committal. Cruz and Miller nodded to Russ, signaling that Green and Burk were in place – _and only then did he lower the swim platform, the body slowly disappearing at the end of the stern_ – the soft hum of the motor ... just enough of a din to make it all real.

 _Rachel stepped forward and Tom turned to her. She blinked hastily and held herself together – he made to reach for her, to drape his arm around her – something, anything … but hesitated ... until he felt the back of her hand brush against his … and only then, did he take her hand into his and squeeze. She looked up to him and nodded, a small smile etched into her eyes as she tugged on his hand and stepped out of the cockpit and onto the sunny deck. Ashley followed her lead, their hands still joined. Tom inclined his head to check in with his father and Sam … once again surprised by how much his youngest had matured ... his eyes, keen and steady as he quietly took the proceedings in. Stepping into the sunlight with Rachel, Tom turned to Russ and gave him the green light to continue._

Russ nodded in assent and held Rachel's gaze for a beat before he began with the rite of committal, his eyes dark and endless … his words coming from that deep, spiritual place, "Unto Almighty God … we commend the soul of our _brother_ departed … and we commit _his_ body to the deep … in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life … through our Lord Jesus Christ, Amen."

 _And with those words spoken, the team below deck committed Reverend Scott to the South China Sea – one swift push … feet first and he was gone – anchored for haste, the white sailcloth disappearing quickly into the depths far below them … the small wake he left behind already a distant tremor._

 _And while Tom listened for those all too familiar sounds (the shift, the push, the splash), he kept his eyes trained on his gorgeous woman as she held her breath until the wind was sucked right out of her – a slight tremble coursing through their joined hands as the moment seized her – its true meaning resonating now … her father's end had come and gone … and only she remained._

 _She shed no tears and he knew there was a likelihood she never would … but when she turned to him, he saw it – that small shimmer, the one nestled deep within her eyes – the one that spoke volumes and reminded him time and time again since they first met that she was capable and brilliant and stubborn … and that in this moment … she was also her father's daughter._

She was a true Scott _– with her head held high and her eyes wide open –_ she accepted his fate ... and her own, for in this case, they were one in the same: _two halves of a whole ... made complete by those fond memories … and dreams in the making._

 _And as a father and a man … that meant something to Tom … somehow._

 _For in the deep recesses of who he was at the core of his being … Rachel's acceptance that she was made of her father (and her mother), mattered to him. Perhaps because of the extraordinary idea of their dreams in the making (his and hers, this time) – and in the names of their unborn children – and who they would be born from: he and Rachel and his father and mother before him … and her father and mother before her … and so on. He blinked hastily and squeezed her hand, grounding himself now with thoughts of building a life and a family with her._

Russ cleared his throat and gently pulled Tom from his reverie. He inhaled sharply and declared, "Let us pray." He opened his weathered bible and began, his baritone – _soulful and deep_ – his words familiar, yet timeless … and ageless, "May The Lord bless you and keep you; May The Lord make His face shine upon you, And be gracious to you; May The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, And give you peace."

 _And then it was done. And while Rachel held her own, her grip upon his hand became just a little bit tighter and the flecks of wondrous gold hidden deep within her eyes, dimmed … if only for a brief flicker of time, while she reflected. For these moments spent here, upon the decks of 'Happy Endings', would indeed become a testament to her father and his love of Flora Island … and to their final moments spent here, together … once again … and for all time._

 _###_

"It's a beautiful place … this island," Jed said as he came to stand alongside Tom at the port side helm. "I can see why it meant so much to them …," he ruminated.

 _The air was humid, at least ten degrees warmer now. The morning sun was hot and the marine layer was gone … until tomorrow … when they would invariably leave this island … with a strong desire to return one day again and again … and again._

"It _is_ gorgeous … a place worthy of dreams …," Tom agreed, his eyes fixed on the bean-shaped island as they moved on and forward, the white sand and lush tropical foliage taking shape now.

"I'm very proud of you, Son," his father declared then. Tom made a sidelong glance at him. He chuckled and reiterated, "I mean it … I'm proud of the lot of you." He smiled. "And as crazy as it might sound … it has been a pleasure to come on this mission with you ... to find myself here in such an unlikely locale, it's so strange – _but at the same time_ – it's as you said, perhaps fate had something to do with it," he sighed heavily.

"It is compelling," Tom agreed. "And it's been great to have you here, Dad … and to know – _you and the kids are well and healthy_ – I'm just starting to feel like we might have a chance at beating this thing …," he exhaled, releasing a measure of his stress.

"Me too …," Jed answered as he turned his attention to Rachel, watching her for a beat as she stood with Ashley and Sam and Jeter and Holbrooke. Tom followed his gaze. "She seems well …," he prompted casually of Rachel then. "Physically … _and_ mentally," he surmised evenly.

Tom nodded in agreement. "She is … and I think she'll be just fine … in time … her shoulder seems better every day too," he answered candidly, somewhat awestruck by her fortitude.

 _His heart alighted now by the way Rachel and Ashley were drawn to one another – reassuring one another so effortlessly, holding hands or hugging – wherein he realized now that their mission, apart from his, had changed the dynamic between them in a way that maybe he hadn't seen until this very minute. For they cared for one another, deeply … and it was special for the both of them. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Feeling happy that they found one another, through the mess and the horror and the death and destruction: they were a vision to the future. He shook his head and marveled at the pair of them._

Jed turned to Tom. "Things seem … _solidified_ between the two of you … you're very comfortable and at ease …," he probed carefully. "The kids seem happy too," he observed.

Tom exhaled, his earlier conversation with Russ foremost on his mind now as he answered, "They're adapting … and they _are_ comfortable with each other – _and we're evolving slowly, Rachel and I_ – just as you foretold we would the night she woke up."

"That's nice to hear, Tommy," Jed encouraged, a small smile playing along his face.

Tom sighed and formulated his words. "I must say though, that being here on this island – _balanced upon such an interesting pendulum of life and death_ – has pushed us somewhat … to deal with how we feel … and not at all in bad way …," he sighed, his heart trumpeting now.

"Given the circumstances of her father's passing and his sudden, brief presence in her life – _I feel happy to know you were together_ – once again ... it all seems a bit like it was meant to be …," he surmised evenly, his eyes trained on the island.

 _Tom nodded in agreement and followed his father's gaze, their eyes on their destination – the familiar island in plain view – wherein he was struck by how vastly different it appeared on the horizon now, following their liberation. The beleaguered state of the small locale, seemingly whole and healed now – all signs of unrest and sickness and mudslides – the trials they endured, gone for now, but not forgotten._

 _###_

The quarantine was bustling with activity when they returned – _the anticipation of its end, breathing new life into the encampment_ – the idea that Rachel would indeed proclaim its success a very real possibility now as Bautista spoke with her regarding his plans for a phased departure from the island. Beginning with those volunteers from the Subic Bay quarantine – _many whom left family behind and were no longer contagious with the cure_ – their part of the mission, _over_ ... and the time for them to return home and begin to rebuild was upon them now.

 _Presently, Tom and Mike walked behind Rachel and Bautista, listening in on their conversation as they exited a large tent, once again inhabited by the elderly patients she was so concerned with – their recovery guaranteed now – thanks to Bautista's relocation efforts. Beyond them, Tom kept his watchful eyes pinned to the kids as they walked ahead, flanked on all sides by Cruz and Miller, Green and Burk while Harley continued his documentation and Holbrooke headed up the procession, the absence of cocked firearms a staggering difference from all other times he'd walked through the encampment._

Inhaling, Tom cleansed his lungs with the tropical air – _the humidity increasing exponentially as the morning hours progressed_ – a few white animated clouds popping out from behind the mountain, bright and beautiful with no sign of rain. He sighed and turned to Mike and scrutinized his old friend again, a contemplative look registered on his stony face. He pressed his lips together and queried, "Something on your mind?"

Mike nodded and muttered, "When we get back … I gotta find Christine." He gritted his teeth. "The ambiguity is really getting to me … and I need answers," he went on.

"Then we'll get them," Tom answered, his chest suddenly tight.

"I think it's time to take my eyes off the horizon … I'm hesitant to say it but, I think we're gonna beat this thing … and I need time to focus on what's got to matter most …," he determined. He squinted under his cap and Tom watched him scan the quarantine, back and forth.

"The James will be in dry dock ... and even then it wouldn't matter … we'll handle it, Mike … you have my word," he assured, his mind racing over what could be done to locate Christine and the kids.

 _###_

 _Back at the bungalow, Tom sat with Ashley and Sam for a moment, his kids chattering away about the morning and the success of the quarantine. Rachel and Cait were in the kitchen, his woman completely engaged by their host whom was likely regaling her with a light-hearted story. Slowly, the mood went from somber to relaxed as he surveyed the room – Miller and Burk playing chess in the far corner – Green sitting with Holbrooke and his father in deep discussion. He sighed and watched Harley for a beat, sitting opposite them – his eyes dancing as he looked on at his tablet – the device, perched upon his lap. His new friend smiled broadly and Tom wondered what he was looking over._

" _Dad … do you know what Rachel told me?"_ came Ashley's hesitant voice then.

"What's that?" he prompted, noticing her cheeks were pink from the sun … and how she reminded him of Darien right now. He smiled.

"She said that Sammy and I aren't contagious anymore …," she breathed, her voice catching slightly.

He privately doted on her, but didn't miss the complexity of emotion etched along her angular face. He sighed and wondered, "How does that make you feel?"

She exhaled and looked away from him, her eyes traveling along the room until she found Rachel in the kitchen. She shook her head, "I keep wondering if there's a sick person somewhere … that could have needed me … I keep thinking, maybe I could have done more."

Tom blinked his emotion into recession and drew his sweet daughter closer, pressing his lips to her crown where he held her in place. He sighed and pressed his chin to her halo. "I understand, Ash …," he began. "I had those same thoughts when I realized I was no longer contagious … but … I think, what we have to focus on is what we've accomplished, you know?" he prompted.

" _I suppose,"_ she answered and then she looked up and smiled. "You're a really courageous person, Dad," she declared, her deep eyes, reflective mirrors of his. He chuckled and found himself speechless. "Thanks for letting me come with you this morning … is it weird to say I was happy to be there?" she asked of him then, her vast mind at work.

Tom stared at her, his heart trumpeting now just as it had the day she was born, "Not at all … I think happiness is defined in a great many ways." He pressed his lips together and lost himself inside of her eyes. "You're pretty courageous too, you know," he smiled.

"Thanks Dad," she murmured and settled back and into the crook of his arm. He looked up and nodded in assent to Harley who'd been listening wherein the men shared a moment of pure wonder together.

 _A sense of calm encapsulated Tom then – one that he couldn't explain – but also one that he vowed to remember – for within those finite seconds spent listening with keen attention to his daughter's innermost thoughts … he truly found himself again, the essence of who he was, brought to the forefront now after having been relinquished to some other place for safe keeping when this whole mess began._

 _His fight or flight instinct diminished now as he stopped to relish in this moment … and their collaborative accomplishments to date. Sighing, his eyes swept the main room again and he swallowed hard and watched with interest as Rachel moved about the main room – a small smile on her face, her eyes dancing to and fro – before she casually disappeared down the hallway en-route to their room._

 _###_

The door was ajar where Tom lingered for a beat before he pressed on the panel with his fingertips, his eyes scanning the room as he stepped inside and spotted Rachel on the porch – _her head craned back, her eyes unwavering_ – the sky high above, bright and blue and obscured by a thick layer of palm fronds. He closed the door behind him and all was quiet inside their sanctuary. He sighed and made his way around the bed and came to stand at the sliding glass door. The curtain billowed in the wind and she looked up to find him there.

 _He stepped outside and into the humidity wherein she readily stepped into his embrace and they silently connected as they so often seemed to do now – so naturally, with her arms encircling his abdomen – and his arms wrapped protectively around her, his nose pressed into the crease of her neck where he silently breathed her in and simultaneously grounded himself, her organic essence filling his lungs … healing him from the inside out again and again … until their enchantment covered them akin to a blanket and the world indeed fell away._

"How are you?" he asked of her after a long moment, the warmth of her body a welcome brand of heat. He smoothed his hand over her shoulder cap, his fingertips lingering on the edge of her scar tissue.

Leaning up, she effortlessly pressed her supple lips to the underside of his neck and breathed her reply, _"I'm well."_

 _He tilted his head and her lips lingered where she added just the right amount of pressure, his pulse fluttering under her lithe touch. He righted himself and swayed with her in his arms – dancing to a melody only they were privy to – the beat as succinct and natural as the trumpet of their hearts. He inhaled and ducked down, finding her lips where he kissed her soundly, making sweet love to her there deep inside this stolen moment._

 _They rotated, his back pressed against the cool glass door now, his hands cupping her face as he held her still, right where he wanted her … for now and for all time. Her tongue massaging his, her deep moan of pleasure vibrating into mouth where he escheated the last of her woes and she became pliant in his arms … and willingly set herself free._

He kissed her once more for good measure before he pulled back and set his forehead against hers – _searching her gateways for those golden flecks he loved so much_ – her eyes still glassy, though clear and bright again. He inhaled and reached into his breast pocket, fishing the page of the Captain's Log Book from within. He slipped it into her hand. _His heart raced._

With her eyes still pinned to his, she breathed, "What's this?"

He sighed looked down while she unfolded the paper – _his eyes moving over his messy scroll_ – that moment spent at the helm of _'Happy Endings'_ , reverberating again now as he looked upon his perfunctory note, simply put:

 ** _10°11'20.2"N_**

 ** _117°41'05.7"E_**

"It's the latitude and longitude of your father's interment," he whispered his explanation, suddenly unsure of himself and his humble gesture.

"I see …," she whispered, looking up and into his eyes.

 _He held his breath as she looked down and he watched as she smoothed her finger over the coordinates, back and forth, the paper shaking slightly in her grasp. She inhaled sharply._

He uncharacteristically backpedaled then, "Rachel ... it can be something … or … it can be just a slip of paper … it's a protocol and a tradition and I wasn't sure if you might want it so I –"

Rachel pressed her fingertips on his lips and silenced him. "Have I said how I love you?" she breathed, her voice soft and melodic.

He chuckled nervously and his eyes pricked with emotion until she became blurred and he lost her momentarily. "You have …," he whispered thickly, his heart trembling with unbridled love as he blinked his tears back and found her again.

"This is one of the reasons …," she said, shaking her head. "It's just you – _it's everything about you_ – and how you are …," she whispered, her eyes searching his. _His heart gave out._ "Especially when you're not sure of yourself … but you're taking care of me regardless … especially then, I find … how _madly_ I love you so …," she husked before she pulsed her lips against his, soft and quick. _"Thank you for this … gift …,"_ she breathed into his ear.

He drew her near and whispered his reply, "You're welcome, love."

 _Folding her deeper into the envelope of his embrace now, his breathing suddenly shallow as he ducked down and found her eyes wherein he saw once again how beautiful she was on the inside where it mattered most – that small piece of herself she allowed only him to see – that clandestine cross-section he fell so madly in love with … somewhere along the way. He brushed his lips against hers, softly. He loved her … so purely, he thought he should be scared – that a love like this, so driven by its own volition even existed – except that he found, he wasn't … instead he realized that he couldn't imagine living a single day without these feelings of deep love and acceptance and fortitude coursing through his veins. He sighed and shook his head at her and everything she'd come to mean to him._

Rachel tilted her head and stared at him, her eyes radiant and unwavering. _"Tom … what …,"_ she whispered, her breathless call bouncing between them now.

He smoothed her hair away from her face. "It's nothing … and everything all at one – _it's us … here on this island … and the kids … and the fading virus … and your father … and mine_ – and everything about you and I … _together_ …...," he exhaled, catching his breath. "I know I've said this before … but truly, I can't explain it … how I love you so … _effortlessly_ … it's –"

"Profound … euphoric … like a dream meant to come true …," she intuited boldly, her gorgeous eyes wide open now.

"Yes … and more …," he whispered his reply – _his hands flanking her face_ – his fingertips nestled deep within her wild tresses. "So much more …," he blinked. "For the life of me … I can't imagine ending up anywhere else."

She exhaled and leaned up, brushing her lips against his before she whispered, "Nor can I, love."

 _And upon those truths, the new couple wrapped themselves one another – cradling their newfound love akin to a newborn baby – seeking their innate warmth and that solace found deep within their enclave, this special place where destiny and fate predicted they would find themselves, both together and apart from one another._

 _###_

 _Cait had prepared a lovely late morning meal for both teams and as the group of new friends slowly let their guards down and the mood became more jovial – Tom began to feel even more optimistic – his broader thoughts switching gears from survival to growth and recovery back in St. Louis. He sat back and smiled with his crew and relished in the blessings that were born from this mission: enduring friendships, newfound love ... and the imminent arrival of the Foster-Green baby. He sighed and once again privately thanked whichever God was watching over them._

He pressed his lips together and watched Mike for a long beat then – _his more serious eyes bouncing with happiness as he shared a joke with Phillip and Dan_ – the trio chortling at Miller's expense over something or another. And there inside that moment, he thought of his friend and all the pain he masked on a daily basis … _minute to minute_ … and yet, he was as strong as ever, having never wavered off course. He was a remarkable man and sailor and friend.

They _all_ were he determined again – _as he pinned his eyes to Russ Jeter's for a beat_ – his confidant and friend who'd given so much of himself to the crew of the Nathan James, from both a spiritual and personal place. For Tom was well aware that he would have been bewildered without Russ's voice of reason. He smiled broadly now and Russ returned the gesture, his dark eyes, bright and clear and laden with hope. And for the moment, that was enough ... for there was nothing quite like a genuine smile from his Master Chief.

 _Looking beyond the table now, Tom maintained his watchful eye on the kids as they helped Cait in the kitchen – their smiles broad, their spirits happy – they were a picture of health. Unforeseen emotion pricked at his eyes then as a stock image of them in Baltimore came to his surface – their weakened condition, their eyes hallow, the virus claiming them, so close to death – wherein his pulse strummed at the thought of what he'd been spared. His heart pinching at him, somewhere low and deep … and forbidden._

He looked away with haste and was met with Rachel's luminous eyes. "You okay?" she asked of him.

He blinked and righted himself. "I'm better than okay," he smiled. She tilted her head and regarded him. He sighed. "I was just watching the kids and I got caught up in the heartache I've been spared …," he breathed. Leaning closer, he whispered, "Because of you. I still have them … because of you."

Rachel's eyes filled with tears; she swallowed hard, "And because of you." She smiled and blinked her tears back and away, "And don't say you just steered the ship ... because you saved me, Tom ... in so many ways, I've lost count."

 _###_

 _Later, when Rachel rose from her seat and asked if she could say a few words, pausing to formulate her thoughts for a brief moment, Tom once again scanned the room and took notice of how captive her audience was – from Bautista and his guards to Phillip Harley and Dan Holbrooke and his father and of course the kids – and perhaps, above all, her shipmates. To say he felt immensely satisfied was understatement … because she deserved this, her audience's undivided attention, whether it be a room full of strangers – or the people she held closest to her heart – she deserved to be set upon that pedestal. And she was … in those moments, revered akin to the saint she had been hailed._

She cleared her throat and trained her eyes on Tom's before she smiled at Ashley and Sam and began, "I thought I should say something on this occasion to offer my sincere gratitude for the lovely service and this beautiful luncheon … and this moment as it has been given to me _here_ , to reflect upon my father's passing." She inhaled sharply and trained her eyes on Russ's for a beat before she continued. "While I believe it is no secret that my father and I were estranged for a great many years – _I truly feel that the distance between us was bridged on the final day of his life_ – and inside those final hours … where we became to one another as we began: father and daughter, in the purest form," she smiled and her eyes danced along the small crowd. She exhaled and shook her head. "And as I see all of you, gathered here with me … I am reminded of that time and time again _– the impenetrable bond between fathers and their children, that innate true love_ – and so … as I stand here and honor what I cherished most about my father: _his altruistic nature and the way he gave of himself so freely to those less fortunate than he_ ….," she exhaled and fixed her eyes on Tom's for a beat and smiled. "I also must honor you … Tom …," she asserted softly, her face flushed, her eyes glassy. She turned away. "And Jed … and Mike ... and Russ …... and Danny …... and Leon …," she whispered, her voice cracking wide open now as fat tears popped free from her eyes and landed on her cheeks. Tom rose from his seat and passed a cloth napkin to her. She looked up to him and smiled. "I honor you – _because in one way or another, you've all shown me what fatherhood is meant to be_ – and not just in that innate way that you belong to your children, but … in the greater longevity of it … whether they are alive and well … or have passed on from this virus or something else entirely … you've exhibited to me that a father's love is _infinite_ … and that's what I came to know of my father in his eleventh hour … that he still loved me from the deepest place in his being … just as I loved him …," she sighed and nodded her head. "And I believe I was only blessed with this realization because of the lessons you all have seamlessly bestowed upon me," she exhaled. "And I thank you ... so much ...," she sighed, her eyes vacillating now.

 _Tom blinked and held his father's gaze, nodding assent as he reached for Rachel and draped his arm around her – the kids rushing to her as well – where they embraced her and she smiled down upon them. The men in the room also rising from their seats where they came forward and offered their words of encouragement – their eyes glassy – their smiles genuine … their hearts alighted._

 _###_

A short while later, Tom stood with Rachel, Mike and Russ on the porch – _their eyes pinned to the horizon_ – the children playing down by the coast, frolicking at the water's edge with Jed while Harley stood nearby and peered through his lens. The sun was perched in the bright blue sky – _high_ _noon was upon them_ – and the palm fronds danced in the humid breeze … it was a breathtaking day.

The door behind them opened and Cait emerged followed by Bautista. Tom smiled and they came to stand at his side. Bautista sighed and turned to Tom. "It's a beautiful day here … a day such as this makes me believe the world is healthy again," he smiled genuinely.

Tom smiled in return. "We're headed in the right direction," he replied diplomatically.

Rachel tilted her head and regarded their ally. "The quarantine has yielded optimal results … as we discussed earlier," she assured. "A phased release of the Subic Bay volunteers along with those in quarantine deemed well enough to travel, should begin later today so they can continue to effectively spread the cure," she reiterated with encouragement.

"Yes, of course, Dr. Scott," he smiled. "I have no doubts of the continued success of the cure … I only comment on the beauty of this day with the great hope ... that you will take advantage of a very lovely surprise I have been organizing for your team," he smiled broadly, his brown eyes, clear and bright.

Tom smiled amicably, "I see."

Bautista tilted his head. "Ms. Cait … perhaps you can use this table," he prompted.

Cait smiled and turned to a small table situated next to an outdoor chair. "A pleasure," she murmured. And with that she rolled out a detailed map of the island.

"Yes ... now, Captain ... I believe you are aware that – _prior to the outbreak_ – the accommodations on this island were primarily leased by people looking to have a very _relaxed_ vacation in _seclusion_ …," he began.

"I am," Tom nodded in assent, his curiosity piqued.

"And I feel very confident regarding the present security of the island now … a feeling I hope is shared by you and your team," he went on.

"Of course," Tom nodded, glancing down at the topography he knew so well now. A stark variance from how this place seemed so foreign and out of reach to him not so long ago – _the momentum of a dream turned into a mission_ – turned back into a dream. _He smiled._

Bautista smiled too. "Especially with the quarantine in effect and my armed services still making their rounds … securing the perimeter of the island from both land and sea, as agreed ...," he paused.

Tom glanced at Mike and then praised their ally diplomatically, "Especially so, and _yes_ ... we have been able to focus on the quarantine and our unexpected situation here without concern, primarily because of the full backing of your armed services."

"Good, so we are in agreement again, my friend," Bautista smiled broadly, his eyes smooth and brown. "And so now, I will show you the surprise ...," he said with an ardent flare. Pointing to the map, he elaborated, "Do you see this inlet here?" Tom nodded in assent. "This is a private beach – _when people come here, it is the most special place to stay on this whole island_ – there is only _one_ bungalow ... right up here, midway up the cliff and it is hidden from plain view," he said, running his finger along the map. "I show this to you now ... because my men have secured that area ... and as it happened it was so well-hidden, it remained unknown to interlopers ...," he nodded. "And ... as Ms. Cait will also assure you ... it is as pretty and serene and private as it always has been ... a true gem to the Palawan Island ...," he said with a flourish of his hand.

 _Tom looked down at the map and scrutinized the area – the beach was small – about a quarter of the size of the one that lay before them now. The terrain looked rough and undeveloped, but he imagined there were access points that were obscured._

"I'm sure it's delightful," Tom answered. He looked up and smiled, catching Cait's eyes for a beat as they danced with happiness.

"As your Subic Bay Team will recall, I _do_ enjoy showcasing our treasures – _you may have heard_ – the team was taken on a day trip to our most beloved Bataan National Park …," he said, his voice laden with pride.

"I believe it was a welcome reprieve from the world at large, we do so appreciate your hospitality …," Tom smiled, for there was one thing he learned about Leon Bautista, and that was, he was a very gracious ally and host.

Bautista went on. "And we appreciate your cure … worth more than we can ever repay … but as a way of thanking you and your team and especially thinking of our dear, Dr. Scott – _with the emotional days you have had_ – it would be such a pleasure to have you spend your last afternoon _there_ ... surrounded by tranquil beauty and without a worry in the world ...," he smiled and bowed his head slightly. And then he looked up and made his final plea, "Please agree. It is the least we can do … and we will delay the first departure of our patients until this evening so we can account for all persons here ... you have my word … you will all remain safe …," he concluded.

 _Tom smiled and turned to Mike for confirmation – his XO nodded in agreement – an action mimicked by his Master Chief. He glanced at Rachel and watched a small smile form on her face, wherein Cait draped her arm along her trim shoulders and squeezed; both women laughed._

Tom chortled and found Bautista's expectant eyes, "I think we agree again, my friend … you have a fine idea."

 ** _To be continued …_**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 26**

Rachel presently stood at the kitchen window of the bungalow and took a long sip of her iced tea – _the cool drink cascading down her throat, hints of pineapple and blueberry there too_ – her eyes fixed on the subtropical landscape just outside, the mountain range high above them. The dense green foliage swaying in the humid breeze, the sun high in the sky while her mind wandered and she thought of anything and everything all at once: _her father's swift committal, blunt and final, the ultimate success of the quarantine, their departure tomorrow ... the children and their pure hearts ... and her pervading love for Tom._

 _And more. Themes of fate and destiny were there too along with the almost unstoppable virus and how it tipped the world on its side and left it there to fend for itself._

 _She thought of her desperate pleas to the U.S. Navy and wondered how and why those moments seemed a lifetime ago already. She thought of Niels Sorensen and his betrayal against mankind … and also of his smug grin. And of her stalemate with Tom over his death at her hand. She thought of her own assailant and the void lodged within his eyes and wondered if there was one in hers too … that day in the lab on the Nathan James as she stared at Niels. Her entry wound radiated with responsive pain and she almost dropped her glass of tea. Her blood ran cold … the hairs on her neck bristled … and she shivered._

Cait emerged from her office then, a large storage container in her arms. She cocked her head, her brow knitted, "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Rachel nodded absentmindedly and answered, "Yes. Just got caught up in something." She inhaled, the memories began to ebb and she turned around, her eyes moving over the litany of containers Cait had lined up, mostly filled with prepared foods for their sojourn around the island. "What do you have there?" she asked of her latest addition.

Cait stood still for a moment before she set the container down on the work table and popped the top off. "Flora Island resort wear," she announced happily, she pushed her wild dark hair away from her face. Rachel smirked. "Invariably guests lose things along the way, or forget to pack something," she smiled and began to remove the garments. She held a shirt up, dark blue with an abstract palm tree and a flourish of deep yellow script that read _'Flora Island Resort'._ "We have shirts for men, women and children … swim trunks, bathing suits … socks, undergarments … something to fit every need," she reported.

"Very nice," Rachel smiled and watched her work. "Need some help?" she wondered.

"Yes, actually," Cait answered with a smile. "You can choose some things for yourself before I have the balance of your team come over here," she prompted evenly.

Rachel smiled and began to protest, "Oh, Cait –"

"Rachel," she interrupted, stepping forward. "You can't very well swim in jeans and a tank top," she said pointedly.

Rachel laughed and felt her cheeks heat, "I suppose you're right."

 _###_

 _The open sea felt different when compared with their journey this morning as the RHIB skimmed across the ocean's surface now, a sheen of diamonds reflecting off of the sun against the rivulets left behind in their wake – the wind, also warmer, was laden with balmy humidity – the sky, a perfect shade of blue and as endless as the ocean all around them._

Rachel set her gaze upon their horizon, Mike at the helm, Tom situated next to him as they followed Bautista's men in a RHIB in front of them. She inhaled the salty ocean essence and allowed it to cleanse her lungs – _her eyes suddenly open wide to the world all around her now_ – having emerged from a fog of sorts since her arrival on the island. Her reunion and consummation of her relationship with Tom aside, she could admit now that her father's unexpected presence and death had jarred her somewhat and she was just beginning to feel like herself again.

The RHIB ahead of them veered to the left and set their course around the perimeter of the island – _the undeveloped bulkhead and the protrusion of a high craggy above them_ –the only visual landmarks Rachel knew she would remember. Not that she had to – _but after the fight and chase for the cure_ – she'd been conditioned to be vigilant when it came to her surroundings. Long gone were the days where she would spend countless hours in her lab bent over a microscope ... _alone_. Although she quickly realized she was happy those days were gone for now.

 _Their speed was reduced and the feel of the wind against her face changed – warmer, thicker now – as Sam tugged on her hand and pointed. She followed his prompt and then she saw it ... the private little beach, their oasis … if only for today. And then she smiled ... because suddenly it felt a lot like coming home. And there inside that reflective moment alone – Rachel realized how long it had been since she felt that sensation – the thrill and comfort of coming home after a long journey._

For she had spent half of her lifetime in pursuit of _something_ … real, attainable, tangible ... _meaningful_. And perhaps it wasn't until this very minute, that she realized the thing she'd been searching for wasn't the answer to the latest pathogen enigma – _or the reason her mother was taken from her so_ – or why her father had done what he'd done. Rather, it was possible that her trailblazing had a far greater purpose: _to find that place in the world where she belonged_. A place to call home.

And so stymied was she by those deep thoughts now … that she felt it _– a pinch of longing_ – a yearning of sorts for the small beach inlet, _so_ beautiful and _so_ representative of everything she ever dreamt about. Fat, reflexive tears filled her eyes and she blinked them into recession – _unwilling to miss a single moment she would spend upon this small cross-section of the earth today_ – this magical, mystical place that seemed to tug on her heartstrings like no other. A version of home transfixed deep within her mind's eye, one she had carried with her for most of her lifetime.

"It's so pretty!" Ashley exclaimed, slipping her familiar hand into Rachel's.

Responsive warmth spread through Rachel then, reminiscent of her mother's embrace and therein she wondered why that was. Why – _when sometimes Ashley would hold her hand or Sam would wrap his arms around her waist_ – would she recall the memories of her own mother? A warm contentment she also dreamt about. And while it was foreign to feel that sensation again, it was immensely satisfying at the same time. She smiled and doted on the girl and then turned her attention back to the small beach as they approached.

The sand was the purest white she had ever seen – _the surface both smooth and unblemished_ – and while the curvature of the shoreline was small, quaint and picturesque ... it appeared to be far less than an expensive piece of commercial real estate. Instead it seemed as though there would be no place to build a homestead ... and that there would no beach at times of high tide. Bearing in mind that visitors paid top dollar for isolation at Flora Island and it was precisely when the tides were high – _and that coastline would disappear_ – that vacationers would indeed become marooned here. And that was what they wanted ... to immerse themselves and be surrounded with the gifts left behind by Mother Nature.

Rachel exhaled as they made landfall – _her eyes traveling up and along the cliff on the far side of the small beach_ – quickly searching the landscape for the bungalow, situated halfway up ... a built-in dwelling obscured somewhat by the rich topical foliage. Painted green, she found it now with ease ... and another smile adorned her face.

 _###_

 _As it turned out there were arcane signs of development scattered all about the inlet: irrigated land, a hidden vegetable garden along with sets of stone retaining walls laid to preserve the beach during the monsoon season – positioned so carefully that they were quite obscured by the sprawling banyan trees that lined the perimeter – the web of their woven branches, a seamless camouflage to the naked eye._

And it was on one of these walls that Rachel sat now and rested her eyes upon scene unfolding before her, surreptitiously avoiding a sudden flare up of pain stemming from her wounds. She inhaled sharply, an attempt to cleanse her lungs _–_ _closing her eyes, she listened to the waves roll against the shoreline and to the birds chirping high above her_ _–_ exhaling, she moved through her discomfort. Her wounds fraught with soreness now _– lingering stress from her father's committal_ _–_ likely the culprit. She sighed heavily and pushed her feet further into the cool, white sand and silently grounded herself.

 _She lamented; her father on her mind now, young and virile and her mother, gorgeous and healthy. She shook her head and opened her eyes to her reality – craning her neck back now, she looked up and through the trees – the sky bright and blue and happy. Pain radiated from her entry wound and she set her fingertips over the tender scar tissue, pushing the strap of her new dark blue bathing suit aside for a moment wherein she willed the stress away._

Absentmindedly, she turned her attention back to the activity on the beach. The Nathan James crew, sporting Flora Island resort wear now _– a miscellany of light and dark blue shirts and swim trunks moving about the beach with purpose –_ their process for unloading the RHIB, systematic as they made their way up the narrow embankment en-route to the bungalow, their arms laden with storage containers filled with food, beach sundries and games.

She searched the coast again and watched Harley, Jed and the children with interest as they meandered down the beach and stopped _– their faces turned toward the ocean_ _–_ she followed their collective gaze and tried to spy what had intrigued them so, though nothing caught her eye.

She smiled and turned to watch Tom, Mike and Russ as they appeared to be negotiating with Bautista's top operator. The trio had donned dark blue swim trunks and resort wear t-shirts with _'Flora Island Resort'_ scrolled across the back. Inclining her head, she suddenly noticed how trim and fit they really were ( _not that she didn't already have intimate knowledge of Tom's physical prowess_ ), but seeing them there, stripped down – _feet bare, bulky uniforms gone_ – they somehow seemed younger and dare she say it, more carefree.

 _Bautista's man boarded the first RHIB and his team took off. She watched the trio for a beat longer, Tom nodding in assent before he turned and began to approach her – his bright eyes shielded under his cap – Mike and Russ mooring the second RHIB behind him. She smiled as she watched him walk and rose from her seat to meet him halfway – the sand turning warmer and even warmer still as she walked out from under the shade, the smooth fabric of her beach wrap whipping up and into the wind – as she squinted under her sunhat and held his gaze until a broad smile adorned his handsome face._

"Everything all right?" she called to him.

He smiled and came to stand before her, "Yes … we'll get ourselves back before sunset … they'll continue to patrol." He slipped his warm calloused hand into hers and leaned down. "You look good in a bathing suit," he flirted, pushing his palm against hers.

She blushed and tilted her head up, "You know … I was just thinking the same thing about you."

A squeal of delight came from behind them and they turned around to find Ashley and Sam bounding toward them – _light blue bathing attire on_ – they suddenly seemed smaller and more innocent. And it was hard to miss the pure elation worn plainly upon their faces – _perhaps another indicator that they had indeed arrived at the here and now_ – their pink cheeks, wide smiles, bright eyes … all laden with hope for the good things to come.

"Can we go see that waterfall Cait told us about?" Sam panted as they rushed up.

Ashley unfolded the marketing pamphlet Cait had given them. She smiled up to Tom and pointed, "It's not that far remember?" she prompted. "And Cait said the General's men already checked about damage from the mudslides and it was all okay," she made sure to point out.

"I don't see why not then," Tom smiled broadly. Rachel smiled and looked down at the map, estimating about a half hour jaunt. She tousled Sam's hair.

 _Jed approached with Harley, the men seemingly more at peace as well – both smiling, their strides easy just like their conversation – Rachel sighed and rotated her shoulder slightly, the strap of the bathing suit, still somewhat bothersome. Reaching up, she slipped her fingers beneath the strap and held them there, searching for relief. The children ran back to meet Jed, likely informing him of their pending excursion. Harley waved and she returned the gesture._

" _You okay?"_ came Tom's voice.

She turned toward him and smiled, "Yes, though I fear the strap of this suit is bothersome."

Tom smiled weakly and traced his fingertips along the edge of the spandex – _Rachel leaned into his touch_ – he stepped closer and pinned his eyes to hers and whispered, "You could just take it off."

Rachel snorted, "Oh, wouldn't you like that!"

Tom laughed, his eyes bright with happiness. "Well, yes I would …," he chuckled and then leaned in. "And as usual … you're still one step ahead of me …," he teased, raising his brow. "I only meant to suggest you change into something else …," he smirked. "Cait packed plenty of extra clothing, I'm sure there are _other_ options …," he explained, twisting his lips together.

Rachel's cheeks heated and Tom laughed at her expense, his eyes dancing with hers now. "You've ruined me," she muttered with a wry grin.

"That was the plan," he teased and draped his arm along her shoulders, his warm embrace … another place to call home.

She looked up and into his eyes, "Well, it worked."

"And I'm glad it did," he smirked.

 _###_

The air was warm and pungent under the shelter of the rainforest's canopy as Rachel followed Tom and the children – _setting herself a pace or two behind them to more carefully choose her steps_ – watching for slick patches of moss and mud as she went, her eyes feasting on the bright pops of floral color that perfectly accentuated the landscape's natural beauty. The ground beneath her feet was soft and layered with the many years of its lifecycle– _rich compost made from leaves, mud and rain, sea and salt_ – the earth at its simplest form.

 _"I hear it!"_ exclaimed Sam.

Rachel tilted her head and then she heard it too – _the soothing sound of rushing water_ – she continued walking up the easy slope until she saw Tom disappear over the horizon ... and it was here that she paused for a moment alone.

 _Standing still now she listened to the world all around her again – feeling quite small all of a sudden amongst the massive trees – a temperate breeze blew through the clearing and up through the end of the embankment, the birds called to one another from high above her. She inhaled the mossy, overgrown essence and released it from her lungs, symbolically letting go of the last of her stresses: gone was her father ... gone was the virus and its ugliness ... carried off and into the wind now._

 _She stepped forward, but hesitated. The unfettered beauty surrounding her – just too rich and too pure to ignore – because while the world had_ _indeed_ _fallen apart, this place continued to thrive. And as she stood still and absorbed what that meant, to arrive at such a place, here, now, after everything – she felt as though she had been bestowed a gift – and been told a secret that was hers to keep and cherish. And for that, she was grateful._

Tom appeared at the crest then. "There you are," he called to her. His handsome face illuminated by a spot of fragmented sunlight – _his eyes sparkling with amusement and joy_ – his muscular shoulders, relaxed. "You all right?" he asked of her.

 _She smiled and walked to meet him halfway, the children's laughter floating through the clearing as she went, her eyes pinned to his as he drew her closer and even closer still, hypnotizing her with his_ _unruly_ _magnetism. Her heart raced and she reached for his hand, warm and familiar – her desire for him and this life they would come to build so great and so feral now – that she could almost think of nothing else. Nothing except for living and breathing and … creating with him. She wanted him, for now … and all time. Her dream had indeed become her reality: sun, surf … baby ... lust, longing ... and more._

"I just can't believe it," she breathed, blinking her happy tears back and away.

Tom smiled weakly and drew her near. His eyes so bright and young and carefree she almost forgot to breathe. He smoothed her hair back and cradled her skull, "What?"

"This ... _us_ ... _here_ ... I feel redundant, but it feels like so much more than a dream come true ...," she whispered breathlessly, her arms around his waist, his body a perfect fit against hers.

"It does," he smiled, leaning down, he held her close and brushed his lips against hers, _soft and quick_ , where he stole the last of her breath. "And I think it deserves redundancy ... this place, it's like heaven and earth ... or something in between …," he said softly, his baritone hanging between them.

She sighed. "A gift …," she whispered, setting her hand over his heart. "Just like you are … to me," she articulated, her voice shaky.

 _A small smile cascaded along his face then before he gathered her in his arms and held her there inside the stolen moment. Leaning up, she kissed him, quickly deepening their oral union – completely losing sight of Ashley and Sam's proximity for a lost_ _beat_ _in time –_ _her desire for him_ _smoldering deep within the core of her being_ _… and yes, she felt indulgent_ _and self-important_ _… but she let herself have this moment with him anyway, for he had become central to everything she was now … and she loved their_ _connection, craved_ _it even. And so for now, she let her guard down and lost herself in everything he did to her._ _Because they made it this far ... and that had to count for something._

 _###_

The waterfall was majestic – _an endless flow of crystal clear mountain spring water_ – its plummet into the vortex, so swift and final that it had no where else to go, but straight down, beneath the surface of the earth and into the deep well of the unknown. Dancing shadows from the trees high above them seemed to shroud the spot with mystery and intrigue and histories unknown. Large cascades of cool water breached the basin's surface and released millions of microscopic bubbles into the atmosphere that created a fine mist and only added to the ethereal essence of the spot.

Tom set his hand upon Rachel's back and gently tugged her from her thoughts. They stood still and watched with keen eyes as the children explored the area at the foot of the basin – _traveling carefully along the stream that flowed from the pool as they meandered_ – off and to the far right, the water en-route to an ancillary waterfall before it would eventually flow toward the interior of the island.

"Don't go too far," Tom warned as he looked after them. "It's slippery," he added.

"Okay, Dad," Ashley smiled as she bent down and picked a large banana leaf up. "Sam! Watch!" she called to her brother as she dropped the leaf into the water.

Sam's face lit up. "Cool!" he exclaimed and began to follow the leaf downstream a bit.

Rachel smiled, the serenity of the moment slowly eclipsing the residual stress and pain she felt earlier. She turned now and watched with interest as Tom ran his fingertips along the top of the vestiges of an ancient wall located at the edge of the basin. It was covered with thick green moss and as he tilted his head, she saw he was perplexed. She walked carefully toward him and he turned to find her there, his fingers lingering upon the velvety surface.

"See these ruins …," he sighed. She came to stand at his side and nodded, resting her fingertips on top of the simple life form, the moss **,** cool and slick to the touch. He turned to her, "They remind me of the foundation we found your father resting along. The formation looked just like this."

Rachel blinked and leaned into his heat. "I see …," was all she said; her heart raced.

"Seems like a lifetime ago," he muttered, shaking his head. He looked up and smiled weakly.

"Are you all right?" she asked, setting her hand upon the smooth plane of his cheek.

Tom turned his head and kissed her palm and then drew her close, encircling her in his arms. She closed her eyes and breathed him in – _salt, sea, aftershave, moss, middle earth_ – she exhaled and waited for his answer. _"I am if you are,"_ he finally whispered.

"And I am … if you are …," she whispered her reply, retreating into the warmth of his embrace.

 _Her mind was wild now with the idea that_ _if_ _Tom's path never crossed with her father's that he would have remained up there, cold and alone, invariably looking up and through the trees toward his final resting place. She smiled reflectively –_ _once again_ _grateful for his final outcome – and_ _for_ _those moments they shared together. Tom said nothing more, but tipped his head forward and kissed her cheek. She looked up and found herself awestruck by his proximity – his gateways blue, with a hints of green reflecting off of the canopy above them – his body heat a welcome addition to the cool air and warm mist that encapsulated them so … and suddenly, again, she knew he was all she needed to truly survive._

 _###_

Having spread a towel along a set of rocks at the far end of the basin, Rachel sat inside a spotlight of sun now and watched Tom and the children swim together – _her feet immersed in the cool water_ – small bubbles popping off of her skin now as she let her legs float to the surface, rivulets of water massaging her feet and calves as she went.

 _Lost within the blessing of the scene before her now, Rachel sighed deep inside and invariably thought of Darien. Her face contorted and she looked away to gather her composure,_ _the pressure mounting now as she wondered how and if she could ever do Darien justice and somehow live these moments for her too. Fully accepting the responsibility now that she had to at least try ... to make it right somehow._ _For what else could she promise upon this precipice of making a_ _new_ _life with her husband and her children?_

" _Rachel!"_ came Sam's excited call.

Reacting, she turned quickly to find the boy sitting on top of Tom's shoulders _–_ _his hands stretched up_ _–_ his eyes bright and intensely happy.

"Reaching for the stars, are you?" she called out to him.

 _Tom smiled broadly –_ _balanced_ _upon an invisible plateau, he was waist high in the crisp water – his eyes bouncing with happiness as he stared at her. She held his gaze and regarded him as a filtered ray of sunlight cascaded down upon him wherein he suddenly looked like a king or some other kind of dream-like version of himself. And Rachel wasn't sure if he was a vision of his past … or their future … or both._

"Come in with us …," he called to her then, his eyes searching hers.

"Not yet … enjoy yourself," she called back.

 _She smiled and Sam slipped off of his shoulders and swam_ _away;_ _Tom followed his lead. Her heart shook as she watched them go, her hand falling low along her belly now, the memory of her dream-baby suddenly at her forefront again – his cherubic face so clear, his eyes so blue and familiar – even now, he felt so real … and her connection to him, undeniable. A connection that was made from the simplest fibers of her being – her subconscious longing for a life so unattainable it was meant to remain a dream – a fantasy so rich, with timing just 'perfect' enough, for her dream-baby to be conceived and brought forth in the form of her heart's most intimate desires._

 _And with those thoughts in mind, she finally allowed herself to mull over the broader ideas of timing and fate and destiny –_ _flattening her palm along her midsection_ _– her circular thoughts on family and motherhood resurfaced now as she tabulated … counting backwards to the spotting of her cycle that had been recorded in her hospital chart._

 _Scientifically, she felt certain her calculations were correct –_ _that she was presently a couple of days away from ovulation_ _– but even with the added protection of birth control, there was still a small sliver of doubt ... and therein she realized she must now speak with Tom and find out how he really felt about babies and timing … recalling his words:_ _'_ _It's profound_ _and life-changing, the start of a family.'_

 _His sentiment echoed now, profound indeed – the start of a family, a lifelong commitment – one that stood the test of time and remained true above all else. She knew that now. Her father's last wishes a testament to that – the light in Tom's eyes when he looked upon his children, another_ _– and again in_ _Tex when spoke of Kathleen and in Dan Holbrooke when he spoke of what would never be ... and perhaps most poignantly, amassed deep within Russ Jeter's hallucinations during the clinical trials._

She inhaled sharply and watched Tom and the children again, their unbridled happiness a sight to behold – _Sam hanging from Tom's muscular arms before he tossed him back into the water_ – while Ashley swam nearby and watched them with a spark of joy set deep within her eyes ... something close to pride or awe or wonder. She turned suddenly and caught Rachel's eye and waved, her more serious physique gone for the moment. Rachel smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

Emerging from her thoughts now, Rachel blinked rapidly and scooped some water into her hands and let it wash through her fingers – _the reflection in the water a mere rainbow made from trees and flowers_ – shimmering and glittering against the fragmented sunlight. A dull ache moved through her wounds and she pushed the bathing suit strap aside and set her wet hand there to soothe her sensitive flesh, still hot to the touch. She looked down and scrutinized her stitches, swiftly pushing aside the ugliness that went along with the indelible souvenir. She shook her head and caught her breath, _in and out_ , she coached herself. For she was unwilling to slide down that slippery slope grief and guilt ( _at least for today_ ).

She breathed through her discomfort and looked up to find Tom watching her. He inclined his head and checked on her without words ... she nodded in assent and he pointed to the falls and winked before he and the children disappeared behind the roaring curtain of water, much to Ashley and Sam's delight.

 _Alone again, Rachel leaned back on her hands and tilted her head up and wondered if life, at this moment_ _–_ _was meant to be different than it was_ _–_ _and if on some other plane of existence, what her life was like there. She blinked and thought of her mother once again before she swiftly pushed herself off of the rock and into the crisp, clean water. She gasped at the cool sensation, tiny pricks of life slicing through her nerves now as she treaded water and warmed herself up._

 _Floating on her back now, she looked up and through the trees and let the current carry her – daring herself to close her eyes for a beat – she kicked her feet once more before she free-floated, her more circular thoughts finally retreating. And therein, she found she was at peace … for this was her outcome – Tom, Ashley, Sam, Jed – and as she'd stated before, she wouldn't want it any other way._

Opening her eyes, she righted herself and swam to the edge of the basin wherein she moored herself against the side _–_ _her fingertips resting on the top of the mossy ledge as she watched the water free fall in front of her_ _–_ the small waterfall a mere trickle compared with the one behind her. She heard the children in the distance and peeked over her good shoulder to find Tom swimming toward her. Ashley and Sam were already out of the water and following the leaves again on the far side of the basin. She smiled and turned back to the small waterfall in front of her.

Tom was behind her in an instant – _his feet perched upon the same plateau as hers_ – his body heat a welcome change in temperature. He kissed the cap of her shoulder and she found herself retreating into his warmth. _"Are you finished thinking?"_ he wondered, his baritone vibrating into her ear. He kissed her neck and her heart skipped a beat.

She smiled and turned inside of his embrace, eye-to-eye now, her back pressed against the ledge. "I forget how well you know me," she whispered, the water between them, warm– _she raised her hand and danced her wet fingertips along his halo_ – his eyes so gorgeous, she found herself captivated.

He shook his head and muttered, "You shouldn't forget that." He smiled and pressed a small wet kiss over her entry wound and then another to her neck over her pulse; her heart went nuts.

"I've been on my own for a long time … just me, you know … no one else to worry about," she whispered into their confessional.

"I know …," he nodded, reaching down he raised her thigh up, his warm hand under her knee wherein he drew her flush against his trim body.

Her heart shook and she relished in his untamed energy – _her core ignited, smoldering_ – she stared at him now and silently connected with him, allowing herself to become lost in everything he did to her and made her feel: _alive, safe, healthy, whole, healed … fulfilled_. She swallowed hard and set her palm over his heartbeat and whispered hurriedly, "I wonder how many people have made love here ... _secluded_ , _alone_ ... dreaming of futures untold."

Tom shifted his body against hers and husked, "I imagine quite a few."

She lowered her leg and stood on her own two feet, her toes touching his. "I wonder where they are now ... all of those lovers with their dreams and hopes pinned to greatness ... and if they were stolen away by the virus ...," she whispered, his heart raced under her palm. She blinked.

"Rachel … don't …," he implored, his watery eyes searching hers.

She tilted her head. "Do you think they had to forfeit their destinies?" she whispered quickly, her thoughts meandering again. Her heart on fire now. Tears welled in her eyes and she lost sight of him.

 _"I don't know … I hope not ...,"_ he sighed, tilting her chin up with his fingers. "Listen … no matter _what_ … happens next …," he intuited, his free arm wrapped around her back now. "As long as you and I are together we'll be all right ... _our_ time is now ...," he soothed. "I promise …," he whispered. He pulled back and inclined his head, a small smile gracing his handsome face. "What we dream and hope of here ... _right_ _here, now_ ... belongs to us ... this has become _our_ destiny … _ours_ …," he sighed before he kissed her lips, _once, twice_ and then drew her near.

"Yours and mine," she whispered into his ear, her lips pressed to his neck.

 _Wherein she promptly lost herself inside the power of his embrace –_ _and_ _the idea of their life together as it pervaded her thoughts once again – along with this broader idea of longevity: 'no matter what'._

 _She closed her eyes on that sentiment and listened again to the world all around her – the rushing water, the birds chirping high above them, the children playing happily – the thump of his heart, all part of the soundtrack … a familiar melody taken from her dreamscapes._ _A timeless symphony that meshed with her reality now while a slow crescendo mounted ... and their life together would begin to unfold and take shape … and it was gorgeous piece of music._

 _ **To be continued …**_


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: My sincere apologies for the gap since my last published chapter. Updates will be coming, just at a slower pace. I appreciate the continued patience for those still interested in this story, if there is an interest, which I hope there is!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Ship, et al.**

 **Heart's Desires – Chapter 27**

 _Having enjoyed the magic of the waterfall and the surrounding area of the isolated jungle, Rachel and Tom made their way around the last stone retaining wall at its perimeter and stepped out from under the banyan trees and into the light, the sand hot, the sun high in the sky – the tide low, the ocean, placid – the dream of a day passing them by at a snail's pace as they savored their time spent together, deep inside the living dream._

Ashley and Sam ran ahead to Cruz, Miller, Burk and Green, whom were playing touch football down by the water's edge. "Off and running again," she mused with a sigh, glancing to Tom.

He set his warm hand on the small of her back and sighed, "It's nice to see them so carefree." He smiled and nodded in assent to his father's raised hand. He exhaled. "Sometimes ... I wonder ...," he paused, his voice trailing off, his eyes chasing after the children as he squinted under his cap.

Rachel stopped and tugged on his hand. "About what?" she prompted, tilting her head, she scrutinized him from under her sunhat, searching his face for signs of duress.

"You know ... never mind ... it's in the past," he smiled tightly.

Rachel smiled weakly and thought to let it go – _she started to walk again_ – but then stopped and declared, "You know ... sometimes I wonder about things too." She smiled stepped closer to him.

He smirked playfully. "Of course you do," he quipped. "You wouldn't be Rachel Scott if you didn't _wonder_ about _things_...," he teased with a wry grin.

She shook her head at his antics and fastened her eyes to his before she pressed a chaste kiss to the plane of his salty cheek and whispered into his ear, "What is it you wonder about, Tom?"

 _He blinked and stared at her for a beat, but remained quiet and took her hand in his instead. Following his lead, they turned toward the ocean and commenced walking toward the balance of the group – Harley, Holbrooke and Jed situated on a trio of beach chairs under two well-placed umbrellas – Mike positioned nearby, true to form, had his eyes set on the horizon, deep in thought ... while Russ sat upright, his finger traveling along a passage in his weathered bible._

 _Responsive tears pricked at Rachel's eyes, for the scene before her was so surreal and breathtaking … and a complete contrast from the life they had collectively lived since she first met each of these men. A scene so unlikely that she would have believed it to be a dream … had it not been so plain and true before her eyes. What a reversal of fortunes._

" _I sometimes wonder ... I ask myself …,"_ came Tom's baritone then. She looked to him. "What kind of damage I caused them – _the kids_ – by leaving them after Baltimore …," he confessed.

Rachel stopped and squeezed his hand. Toe-to-toe with him now, she looked up and into his careworn eyes. "You're a wonderful father," she praised. He looked down and away from her for a beat. "You _are_ …," she insisted. "We did the best we could do … _we did_ … and what matters now is how things are repaired ... how we plan to make it up to them …," she breathed.

Tom pressed his lips together and nodded. He draped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his natural heat. They walked on again for several paces before he whispered, "I like the _'we'_ part of that plan."

"So do I …," she smiled, watching his eyes dance now.

 _###_

 _Rachel sat at the water's edge and watched Tom body surf with Mike and the children – their shrieks of joy so pure of heart she truly found herself awestruck – for they looked just like regular, happy children at the beach with their father and an uncle-type friend. Horsing around in the untainted ocean – this essential, powerful body of water still untouched – unaffected by the world it surrounded on all sides ... just as dominant and cleansing as it always had been ... especially here, in a spiritual sense, along the shores of Flora Island._

A wave rolled in and she looked off and to the far right, her eyes traveling up and along a massive cliff wherein she wondered how close that perch might feel to the skies or to heaven – _especially at sunset_ – acknowledging now that not even her dreamscapes did this place justice. Her eyes lingered there until she spotted Green, Burk and Cruz as they emerged from the overgrown jungle situated below the craggy, their arms laden with bunches of bananas and loose mangoes.

They made their way toward her, Harley following close behind, awkwardly holding a standard issue titanium knife. She smiled and held the intensity of their stares and watched as they walked on until Cruz – _in the center of the fold_ – stopped and turned abruptly to Green before all the three of them turned and trained their eyes directly on her. By the time they approached, the men had their lips pressed into thin contemplative lines.

"The spoils of war," Burk announced with a wry grin as they made their final approach.

Rachel smiled as Danny handed a gorgeous mango to her. "I was just thinking a short while ago how indulgent this all seems ...," she sighed wistfully. "Thank you," she added softly, her eyes pinned to his.

"Welcome ...," he smiled genuinely.

 _The trio sat down on the over-sized beach mat with her and grinned from under their caps – Green's shoulders pink from the sun – Burk's eyes bright with mischief and Phillip, more than enthused by their antics._

Rachel turned her attention Tom and the children again, her thoughts meandering back to his concerns of post-traumatic stress and the losses that confounded the children: _their mother's death and their father's absence._ Before long she became cloaked in sadness, the loss of her own mother ( _and her father's apathy_ ), front and center again – _somehow tugging on her heartstrings alongside her desire to build a family with Tom_ – to have and hold their dream-baby ...… when the time was right.

 _"What's on your mind?"_ came Phillip's smooth voice then, his gaze following hers.

She raised her brow and smiled. His dark brown eyes, steady as he tilted his head and regarded her. His sandy hair, longer now, was a wild mess. "That depends on the moment it seems ...," she sighed. "My mind's all over the place today," she admitted candidly.

"Understandable," he replied, his legs outstretched before him, his feet crossed at his ankles. "A great many crossroads have been connected here ...," he smiled weakly.

 _She nodded and turned back to Tom, privately doting on the 'family' again – Sam perched on his broad shoulders – while Ashley swam alongside Mike, whom she could so easily see now was a natural born father. Her heart sank; the death of his son resonated. The unknown status of his family, nagging at her now too. Suddenly crestfallen, the smooth, ripe mango felt heavy in the palm of her hand and she nearly dropped it in the sand. She looked up and found Cruz watching her._

He gave her a disarming smile, his dark eyes, intense and faceted, even from underneath his cap. "Want me to cut that?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Sure …," she smiled in return and handed the fruit to him.

 _He got to work and all became quiet save for the ocean as it rolled against the shoreline and Sam's cries of glee as Tom tossed him around in the water. She sighed and relished in the feeling of the sun as it pressed down upon her shoulders – symbolically healing her wounds – the residual pain having ebbed somewhat now. She turned back to the group then and watched Cruz work on the fruit for several long beats as he peeled the leathery skin back, revealing the bright goldenrod flesh, sticky and sweet ... the scent familiar and decadent – his hands devoid of defensive wounds – a subtle reminder that the team hadn't engaged in combat as of late._

He looked up and smiled, balancing a thick slice of the fruit for her on top of the blade."Thanks," she replied. He went on to offer slices to the group while she took a small bite of the fruit and savored the sweet, full-bodied essence of the mango. "Wow ...," she smiled, her cheeks suddenly flushed. "Life's simple pleasures really have become luxuries," she mused thoughtfully.

"Indeed," Cruz replied, a small smile breaking across his more serious face.

 _He tilted his head and offered another piece of fruit to her. She took it and watched as he looked out over the water. She followed his gaze and wondered what sailors saw when they looked off and into the horizon as they were prone to do. The water glittered with sparks of light bouncing off of the sun like trillion diamonds ... tiny and beautiful. She glanced at Danny and then at Cruz again. He smiled and turned back to her._

"You're not the only one with a wandering mind today …," he disclosed then, his voice calm and collected.

"No?" she inquired, her interest piqued. He shook his head and put the mango seed down along with the knife. "What's on your mind?" she prompted softly.

He smiled weakly, his lips pressed together. "Life ... and death ...," he offered simply. "And the beach ... and you, Doc ...," he went on. Green and Burk turned to him.

Confused, she tilted her head and regarded him for a moment until his meaning dawned on her. "Guantanamo Bay ...," she whispered.

"Yeah ...," was all he said. He looked up and set his eyes on the horizon again.

 _Rachel sighed and glanced to Green and then to Harley – and then, just like that, those fleeting moments spent on the beach with Cruz and Green began to play over in her head like an old home movie – the insecurity, the fear ... the cure, still so far out of her reach! And there was more, the memory of the way Tom had looked at her and how Mike mistrusted her._

 _She shook her head and heard Harley ask what happened there at 'Gitmo', but she was so lost within her memories she didn't dare answer. So she listened instead as the team told him everything that happened that day ... including her saving Cruz on that sweltering beach. Her heart pricked at her._

"So much of what happened that day feels like a memory from a different time or space entirely …," she finally said, her voice trembling.

 _She sighed with resignation and turned back to the group – a small smile fixed upon Harley's face now, one that reached his eyes, a mirror image of the look upon hers – caught up in the not so distant past where everything they did mattered and had a consequence that was dumped into two broad categories: life or death._

Cruz nodded and said, "You saved me … _twice_ … on that beach and then with the cure." And then he smiled handsomely. "You're something else, Doc," he admired.

Rachel smiled. "We saved each other … _collectively_ … quite a bit since we first met ...," she sighed and sat up straighter.

"That's what you said that day … on the James after we got back …," Green nodded, a smile etched along his face now too.

"I still believe it to be true," she answered.

"Thank you," Cruz said then. He blinked with haste. "I don't know if so ever said, _'thank you'_ ... you disappeared to your lab … and then everything else happened," he went on.

She began, "Oh … well … we all had jobs to do –"

"No … don't do that," he interrupted and turned to address Phillip. "She does that doesn't she? Deflects attention … makes light of everything she's done to save us all," he stated evenly. Phillip nodded in assent, a small knowing smile on his face.

"Well ...," she sighed heavily, truly at a loss for words.

And then Cruz laughed. "The last time we were on a beach together you had your hands inside of me … barking at Green … that's nothing to discount," he chuckled and smirked at Danny. "You were tough … a force to be reckoned with," he asserted evenly.

She smiled and the cast her eyes out to sea, training her them on Tom and Mike and the children. She exhaled and whispered, "And now?"

He chuckled again. "You're the same, except for the barking part," he deadpanned.

"Yeah?" she wondered.

"Yeah," he answered.

 _###_

 _Rachel stood on the deck of the mountainside bungalow, the team in flux after a light lunch. She inhaled sharply and turned toward the ocean and let her eyes wander over the endless horizon, the dark green flora framing her vista. The late afternoon had turned hot and muggy but was no less beautiful and as such, they decided to retreat into the jungle again and explore the surrounding areas and waterfalls._

 _Exhaling, she released a measure of stress, the Motrin she took a short while ago at play now wherein she felt her lingering discomfort fully dissipate. A warm, humid breeze funneled through the deck and Dan Holbrooke smiled back at her as he descended the old wooden steps, his more guarded persona gone for now. Mike and Russ stood at the bottom of the steps with Green while Cruz and Miller were bent over a Flora Island marketing pamphlet._

The door behind her opened and the din of conversation from within floated out and beyond the deck. Harley came to stand at her side. "You good?" he asked of her, squinting at the sun.

She smiled and answered, "I am."

The door opened again and the children rushed out, followed by Jed and Tom. Jed smiled, his weathered eyes, unwavering. "Ready?" he asked Phillip.

Phillip smiled. "You bet ... but first ...," he smiled and slipped his camera off of his neck and presented it to Ashley.

Her eyes popped open, happy with surprise. "Really?" she breathed.

He smiled broadly and then looked to Tom, "Ashley's going to shoot some photos, if that's all right with you."

"Sure is," Tom smiled, pride laden in his eyes.

Harley beamed at Ashley, "Let's go take some practice shots."

"So cool!" she answered and headed down the steps without looking back. Harley smirked, shrugged his shoulders and followed her lead.

Jed smiled and put his arm around Sam's shoulders, "How about you lead the way to the falls?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. He turned to Tom, "Dad, are you coming?"

"Of course!" Tom chortled.

Jed stepped forward. "Actually, Son ... why don't you and Rachel stay here?" he prompted casually, a small smile on his face. "Maybe go for a swim? Enjoy yourselves ... you deserve it," he suggested lightly.

Rachel watched Tom for his reaction – _his eyes meeting hers_ – a smile forming on his face before he turned back to his father. "That sounds like a fine idea," he smiled and looked to Sam, "Are you all right with that, buddy?"

"Yeah … plus, the waterfall was pretty awesome," he answered with a sure grin.

 _###_

 _After seeing the group off from the balcony, Rachel watched as Tom embraced the children before they ran off too. He watched them go, and she could see his reluctance so plainly, his chin up, his eyes vacillating as he looked forward ... his heart going with them. She smiled into herself then, for she was well aware that in the coming years she would see that look upon his face again and again. A look that displayed his vulnerability, anguish, fear ... and that was all right, for this side of him was a byproduct ... a reminder from whence they came. A small regretful smile formed on her face; she inhaled sharply and stilled her heart and allowed the quiet consume her. She closed her eyes for a beat and listened once again to the sounds around her, both near and far: palm fronds swaying in the wind, the ocean, quieter now from her high perch ... the tropical birds' intermittent calls to one another._

She heard Tom's footsteps, closer now, and opened her eyes to find him there - _his eyes bouncing with sheer happiness, his face flushed from the sun_ \- his smile was broad as he came upon her. "Hi ...," he greeted softly.

"Hi," she breathed, reaching for him as she stepped into his arms, her bare toes touching his.

 _They sighed in tandem then, seizing the stolen moment – with her ear pressed over his heart – and her arms wrapped around his waist, she swayed with him, not care left in the world now. Tilting her head up, she kissed his neck and pulsed her lips there, breathing him in as she did – pineapple, deep ocean, coconut, island freshness – his lips instinctively fused her neck before he pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses to her clavicle and she became lost in her desire for him. And therein, with her eyes closed and her hands threaded at the nape of his neck, she held on now as he slowed his tempo, his fingertips suddenly dancing beneath her bathing suit straps. Her pulse raced._

 _"Rachel …,"_ came his heated call. He kissed her entry wound, she leaned into his touch and opened her eyes. "You really should take this off _..._ it's pretty irritated," he muttered, his eyes glassy as he ran the pad of his thumb along her wound.

She glanced at her shoulder and set her fingertips over the scar tissue too, hot to the touch with inflammation. "I should …," she agreed and then looked up and batted her lashes playfully, her cheeks suddenly flushed. "How do I know this isn't just a ploy to get me naked?" she whispered.

He smirked and drew her near. "Hmm, am I that transparent?" he chuckled. "I didn't mention I planned to help?" he flirted, ducking down, he kissed her soundly, his hands supporting her back now. Her breathless laugh floated between them. "We're alone ...," he muttered, his eyes searching hers. " _Here_ … somewhere between reality and that dream of yours …," he whispered, setting his forehead against hers.

 _Tilting her head up, she brushed her lips against his, soft and quick until he deepened his oral hold upon her. Quickly, the lovers lost themselves within a euphoric haze made of their own brand of heat wherein Rachel felt the balance of the world tip into nothingness and all that seemed to matter was Tom and the way he kissed her so ... flawlessly ... in the name of everything they had become to one another: soul mates for all time._

"I want you, so badly …," she found herself whispering against his mouth, her hands flanking his face as she stared at him akin to some kind of idol ... a treasure ... an ethereal version of him, this man she loved so. Hot tufts of air swirled between them. "I ... _feel_ so much here, like an awakening ... but I don't want to just _–_ "

"Do it," he whispered quickly, cutting her off with a searing kiss. "Screw our brains out," he husked brazenly pulling her flush against him, he palmed her tush.

"Yes …," she hissed, her head tilted up, her eyes pinned to his, intense and all-seeing; heated desire coursed through her veins.

He smiled and smoothed her wild tresses away, "There's always tonight." He pulsed his lips against hers.

"And tomorrow …," she replied softly, her arms draped over his shoulders now. She leaned up and kissed him again.

"And so on … _yes_ …," he breathed, swaying with her in his arms, his eyes dancing with hers as a boyish grin formed on his face, "Can I still help you change though?"

Rachel laughed, "You are incorrigible!"

 _###_

 _A short while later the couple emerged from the bungalow and headed down to the coast. Rachel felt more comfortable now, having donned a navy blue Flora Island cotton tank top and a pair of matching shorts ... with Tom's 'help' of course. The sun was still bright, but the high noon temperatures had faded away, leaving behind a balmy aftermath._ _A series of small waves rolled onto the coast and tickled their toes, the water was tepid and refreshing._ _Tom slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. She looked to him and smiled from under her sunhat, his eyes sparkling, an over-sized beach towel draped along his broad shoulders._

"Want to head up there?" he asked of her then, she followed the line of his finger to a small clearing under one of the banyan trees.

"Sure," she answered.

They made their way up the beach, the sand very hot until they skirted the low branches of the tree _–_ _the shade and cooler sand_ _–_ both a welcome relief. Tom slipped the towel from his shoulders and spread it down. They sat down in tandem and collectively sighed. Rachel took her sunhat off and leaned onto her good arm. Tom smiled _–_ _his bare shoulders pink, just like his cheeks, his eyes dancing with happiness_ _–_ as she closed the small distance between them and kissed him. He kissed her back with equal fervor, one hand suddenly cradling her skull where he held her just where he wanted her.

Pulling away slightly, she found his eyes again, the shade of blue so brilliantly flecked with silver she found herself captivated by what the island had done to him. She leaned into his heat again and confessed, "I'll miss being here with you, like this ... seeing you, like this."

He smiled and kissed her once more, "Something tells me this place hasn't seen the last of us."

 _He stared at her then for a good long moment – she smiled weakly until her cheeks heated – he smiled too and drew her near. He kissed her temple. A larger wave crashed along the shoreline; the echo vibrated and bounced back. She turned and watched the ocean then, somewhat lulled by its natural ebb and flow, both smooth and calming. She sighed happily and glanced to Tom and watched him in quiet reflection – his eyes pinned to the ever-present horizon – a small satisfied smile etched along his face. He inhaled sharply and pressed his lips into a thin line. She tilted her head and smiled before she followed his gaze and let her eyes rest upon that same point of interest._

 _And then all was quiet, even her swirling thoughts ... and the birds and the ocean too. It was as if it was just the two of them, suddenly alone in the world – so simple together, just like her dreamscapes – the details of their arrival at this juncture and the complexities of their journey ... also gone, for the moment._

Tom moved and broke her spell. He draped his arm around her shoulders. She smiled and he turned into her, his body warm and familiar. He angled her chin up with his thumb and kissed her lips, _once, twice._ "When we get back …...," he began, his nose brushing against hers. "I really want you to move in with me … with _us_ ...," he enunciated slowly, his eyes as calm as still lake.

Rachel blinked and her heart raced. Tears flooded her eyes. "Tom ...," she whispered, at a loss for words. She searched his eyes for answers.

"I know it's a lot to process ... this request ...," he held her gaze, his smile warm and sincere.

"Maybe …," she whispered, her breathing shallow.

 _She set her hand upon the smooth plane of his cheek and held herself together as she contemplated what this meant – this idea of moving in with him and the children – ultimately she knew they would soon become a family, in fact, she felt they already were in a great many ways. She just hadn't thought beyond the here and now. Beyond their time spent here. Beyond today. A luxury she hadn't felt since the scope of the virus had barreled out of control. The luxury of making plans ... of living a life that had some measure of control to it._

 _She sighed and leaned into his heat where he naturally folded her into the envelope of his arms and held her there – the quiet between them, comfortable – the silence, no more than a stand-in for a necessary moment of reflection as they both watched the ocean. She retreated further into his arms and closed her eyes, listening to his heart as it beat in harmony with the tempo of the waves._

After a long minute, Tom shifted and pressed his chin to her halo. He exhaled. _"Last night ...,"_ came his steady voice. _"You said, 'don't over-think it' ...,"_ he reminded her.

Rachel smiled and replied, "I did and I'm not ... over-thinking it." She inclined her head to look at him. "I'm simply trying to imagine it ...," she exhaled and held her breath.

"It'll be like this ... we'll live together … and evolve ...," he spoke optimistically.

 _Rachel smiled at the idea, not a far stretch from the truth – she knew this – though she, much like Tom, was primarily concerned for the children and their emotional well-being. She sighed and held her tongue, for what could she say to dispute it? For more than anything she wanted to move on and forward with him and Ashley and Sam. She wanted a life with them ... and she was ready to reclaim what had been lost within her dreams: a life worth chasing and the outcome of their union ... and the momentum to build upon their unique foundation._

She sighed and stared at him and shook her head at his antics as he smiled handsomely and brazenly flirted with her. She blushed. "Tom ...," she laughed breathlessly.

"What?" he chuckled, feigning innocence. "Look ... I know you don't like coffee," he pointed out with a grin. "And I promise we'll stockpile your horrible green tea … and for the record, I like my coffee black ...," he went on, his voice low and playful ... _intimate_.

"I actually knew that," she quipped.

His smile remained, but she watched his eyes become serious. "Listen ... I'm open for however long this takes ... for you to feel we're ready ...," he asserted softly. "It's just me ... and life's short," he shrugged. "I want you with me _–_ _it's as simple as that –_ and I just can't see spending too many days or nights without you after this trip ...," he reasoned with her.

She smiled and answered, "Nor I without you."

 _###_

"Do you think the children are all right?" she wondered, turning toward Tom.

 _They lay down under the banyan tree now, his fingers laced through hers, his eyes closed. The rise and fall of his chest ... systematic ... hypnotic, as she attempted to match her tempo with his._

A smile formed on his face and he turned to her, his eyes alert and bright. "I'm sure they're having a great time ...," he sighed and rolled toward her, balancing himself on one elbow. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Russ reminded me how resilient kids are, I need to remember that when I watch them go off like that ... and when I think of what the future holds for us ...," he thought aloud.

"They _are_ resilient ...," she agreed. "I was reminded of that on Subic Bay, they're so capable ...," she praised. She held his pensive gaze and whispered, "You know ... no matter where we go in the immediate future _– there will be an undercurrent of unpredictability_ _–_ even with planning and piloting our own course ... it can't be helped."

"A scientist's worst nightmare ... some of the time," he smirked with a wry grin, a veiled attempt to lighten the mood.

"And a captain's ...," she breathed and looked away toward the ocean.

Her eyes filled with responsive tears, the factual nature of their conversation just too ... _real_. For there was no way to dismiss the dangers that confounded them. And no way to truly keep everyone they loved out of harm's way. The coastline became blurred.

She inhaled sharply and Tom rolled into her, resting his free hand upon her breastplate _– his palm warm and familiar_ _–_ his gesture simple, yet comforting. _"Talk to me Rachel ...,"_ came his plea, the smooth timbre of his voice vibrating against her chest.

She swallowed hard and turned to look at him, this man she'd fallen for so effortlessly. "I want that dream with you," she breathed; her heart raced. "All of it ... everything about it ...," she sighed. "I just worry about our timing when it comes to ... chasing it _–_ "

"Don't be ...," Tom hushed, inching closer, he pressed his lips to her shoulder, his hot breath fanned her face. "I know you're concerned ...," he whispered. She smiled weakly and he leaned up on his elbow and set his hand low across her abdomen: _warm and soothing_. "But I'm not …," he stated evenly, his brow raised.

Her heart bottomed-out at his implication. "You're not?" she inhaled sharply, her cheeks flushed, her eyes trained on his: _unwavering, steady ... as calm as the middle ocean._

He shook his head and pressed his lips together. "No ...," he whispered, his eyes suddenly glassy. She set her palm upon the smooth plane of his cheek in an effort to allay his uncertainty; he leaned into her touch. "After you ...," his voice trailed off. He sighed heavily and looked away; he kissed her palm and began again. "While I waited for you to wake up, I read your chart a lot ...," he sighed and shook his head. "You know, I just ... really wanted you to wake up ...," he explained, his voice small and quiet.

"I know, love," she comforted, her eyes pinned to his now. She raised his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to him there.

He smiled weakly. "And most of the time I had no idea what I was reading ...," he chuckled nervously. "Except ... that a couple days before you woke up ... you got your period … that much I understood ...," he said, his voice laden with raw emotion.

"Yes, I did ...," she whispered, somewhat dismayed by him.

"And when you did ... I felt …... _relieved_ ... because to me – _it meant you were still in there somewhere_ – that somehow your body was functioning as it should ... it felt like a sign ...," he rambled on softly.

 _She nodded and blinked her threatening tears back and away, watching him come undone slightly in front of her as she was reminded of those darker hours he experienced while he anxiously waited for her to wake up … and therein, her heart ached for him._

"Hey … I love you ...," she whispered suddenly, her voice cracked. She leaned in and kissed his lips, pulsing _once, twice._

"Hmm … love you too ...," he sighed, his eyes glassy. He smiled a disarming smile. "And I know you were double-checking this morning ... when you read your chart ... I know ...," he intuited, his soulful eyes searching hers now.

She sighed and admitted, "I was."

 _Tom sat up and raked his hand through his hair. He laced his hand through hers and sighed, his eyes scanning the coastline now. Rachel closed her eyes and wondered what he was thinking, but let him be, for now. He sighed restlessly and she opened her eyes and watched him for a long quiet moment … in deep thought and poised with dignity._

 _"Do you regret last night?"_ he asked after another minute, his tone cautious.

Rachel's stomach fell and she quickly sat up. "No!" she answered, staring at him. "Last night ... was everything …," she whispered, searching his eyes, blue and steady. "It was … _the_ dream …," she asserted, taking his face in her hands. "It was perfect ...," she enunciated breathlessly, her face suddenly flushed.

Tom leaned in and kissed her. "It was ...," he agreed softly, his eyes clear. "But ….," he prompted, his brow furrowed.

"There's no _'but'_ ...," she sighed, her insides twisting. She exhaled. "It's just my mind on over-drive – _everything here is so dreamlike_ – except the reality is …...," she exhaled. "The world doesn't need more babies right now ...," she breathed, verbalizing her fears. "And I got spooked ... so I had to check …," she whispered quickly.

Tom sighed and a small smile formed on his face, the one he saved just for her. "I know ... and I did some calculating of my own ...," he exhaled, keeping his eyes trained on hers.

"You did ...," she breathed, a small smile on her face.

"I did ...," he nodded and drew her near, his lips pressed to her crown as he tucked her into the envelope of his warm embrace. She looked up to find him. "And as far as I can tell, you're a couple of days from ovulating ... you _are_ ...," he confirmed, caressing her cheek. He smiled weakly. "I remember all about babies and ovulation, Rachel …," he said intimately, a tiny flirtatious twinkle set in his eyes now. "And … sex ... during that window of ... opportunity ...," he whispered.

 _Rachel's heart bleated as she stared at him and he at her for a long moment. She nodded and a set of tears splashed along her cheeks. Of course he would remember such things ... the timing of conception and how precarious it was. He was a father, he had a family. She blinked and he cupped her face in his capable hands, his eyes steady and crystal clear. Closing the small distance between them, he kissed her, long and slow … he tasted of tropical fruit and his skin smelled of coconuts and fresh and sea water all at the same time._

"If you are pregnant …," he whispered against her mouth. "Then you are ...," he breathed softly as he pulled back. "And that means it was meant to be ... I know that much …," he hushed. "I have two miracles of my own … and they were meant to be too …," a whimsical smile on his face.

"They are …," she murmured, her heart strings tugging at her in all the right places now, an instant pang of regret for Darien coupled with a surge of love for her children.

 _Tom smiled … and if he was freaked out, Rachel wouldn't have known it._ _Retreating into his embrace, she allowed his sentiments to resonate and finally felt that measure of relief she'd been searching for all day. The ocean drew back and a new set of waves rolled against the shoreline. Her shoulder was stiff, but she let it be and began to ponder life, the creation of it ... and timing, in general ... and therein her thoughts migrated to Kara and Danny and the insanity of the timing of their conception ... and then to Dan Holbrook and his wife and the timing of her miscarriage along with his conflicting thoughts. She felt restless and shifted her weight._

Tom chuckled and stood up. He held his hand out for her, a knowing grin on plastered to his handsome face. "Come on," he smirked. Rachel smiled and took his hand and he helped her up, drawing her flush against him.

 _Sighing in tandem, she held him close, his body a perfect fit against hers – his muscles flexing under her touch – the sun pressing down on their shoulders as they swayed together, his fingertips dancing along her hairline now as he quietly made sure of her. His eyes, soft around the edges, told her everything she needed to know: that he loved her, needed her, wanted her … and that their timing, when it came to 'them' was still impeccable. He slipped his hand into hers and turned toward the sea where they walked together – eyes pinned to the horizon – their toes soon met the tepid water as the waves rolled against the shoreline, the scene before them so pure ... untainted ... private, she felt marooned there … again like her dream, alone … but not lonely._

Tom slipped his arm low around her waist, his fingers slipping just beneath the top of her shorts. He pressed his lips to her shoulder cap. "You know it's all going to be fine, right? In time ... we'll be all right …," he assured, his smile so genuine, she knew he believed it ... and therein, so did she.

"I suppose ... time is all we need," she pondered.

 _Turning into him, she tilted her head up and planted an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse point, her arms around his waist now, his lips traveling along her neck. He hummed into her flesh and found her mouth – his warm hands cradling her skull as he deepened their kiss – sending a feral course of untamed desire through her body, reminiscent of their night together. With his tongue massaging hers, their silent dance suddenly became erotic – sending rapid shivers of need up her spine – a guttural moan of her name on the tip of his tongue, his hands everywhere at once until he pulled back and stared at her and she at him … quite breathless and intoxicated by one another now. And it was within those finite seconds of blissful oblivion that Rachel lost sight of herself entirely, her eyes laden with lust, her body … numb ... her mind ... free from worry._

"If you keep kissing me like that ... touching me … like that ...," she whispered, catching her breath.

Tom drew her closer and cupped her face into his hands. "Like what?" he teased, smoothing her hair back and away, his eyes glistening against the sun. "Like this?" he whispered playfully.

 _His lips descending upon hers now wherein he kissed her senseless and she promptly lost herself again – her gasp of surprise vibrating through their oral union as he cupped her breast – the thin fabric of her tank top, no match for his thumb as he brushed it against her puckered flesh, back and forth. Her body responsive to his every whim now, she drew him even closer, traversing her hands across his taut abdomen where she pinned her fists to his hips and pulled him forward, balancing herself against him. Holding on, she reluctantly pulled away from his kisses and found his eyes._

"You're so naughty," she husked, her cheeks flushed – _her impulsive desires brought to a heated frenzy_ – an echelon of lust she'd never been to before.

He laughed and kissed her again, slowly this time. "I am ...," he admitted, his voice low … _sultry_. He raised her palm to his mouth and pulsed his lips there and then to the backside of her wrist, _kiss, kiss_. Peeking up, he breathed, "So, what do we do?" A small smile formed upon his handsome face. "I'll do ... or _not_ do … whatever you want ...," he teased her mercifully.

She eyed him carefully with a smile. A wave rolled onto the shore, covering their feet, the ocean breeze that arrived with it, a welcome relief from the heat that had consumed her. She shook her head and set her ear to his heart, her eyes searching the horizon. "We could … abstain ...," she breathed; a twinge of regret eclipsed her racing pulse.

"We could," he husked, tilting her head up with his thumb. "Do it the old-fashioned way … _abstain_ ... count days … until it's safe ...," he murmured suggestively, a shimmer of naughty nestled in his gaze as if it was a challenge … a provocative dare of sorts.

Rachel grinned. "How on earth do you do that?" she asked incredulously.

"What?" he smiled broadly, his mischievous eyes dancing with hers now.

"Make a discussion about fertility ... and _abstinence_ sound so … _sexy_ ...," she breathed, a wry grin forming on her face.

Tom pressed his lips together and held his tongue. He shook his head and bumped his hip against hers. Turning, they walked down the curve of the beach toward a long jetty situated on the far side of the shoreline, the rocks glistening under the sun as the water flowed around and over them. Upon their approach, he stepped up and held his hand out for her. She took it and gingerly stepped upon the rock – _hot and slippery to the touch_ – it let off a small amount of steam under her feet. Moving carefully now, they walked in a comfortable silence upon the jetty, the hot rocks offset by the slippery moss and the ebb and flow of the tidal sea as it washed upon the pathway before them.

"It's slippery here ...," he warned, his hand suddenly set against the small of her back as he pointed one step ahead, the slab, layered with a thick coat of dark brown moss.

She smiled, "I see."

 _Before long, they reached the tip of the jetty and stood still, their pinnacle somewhat suspended between land and sea. The water, so blue and pure … the rivulets, swirling below them, captivated her just so – and there inside that moment – she wasn't sure if she'd ever seen anything so chaste or beautiful. Though perhaps it was just her eyes she was looking through … maybe they were little less judgmental and harsh. She swallowed hard on that admission and stole a glance at Tom and found herself somewhat breathless by his quiet solitude – his face, relaxed, his eyes, pinned to some far off magical place – and then she smiled because it was those subtle differences she suddenly appreciated the most … for they spoke volumes about his overall well-being. He was all right … he wasn't pensive or searching for answers … he was in the here and now … and therein, so was she._

"It's quite breathtaking ...," she whispered then, her eyes moving over the glittering, endless expanse of the ocean ... suddenly as gorgeous as she remembered as a child – _and then she smiled again_ – for perhaps somethings in life didn't change.

"It is ...," Tom agreed, draping his arm along her shoulders. "I might have forgotten the world could be this peaceful …," he added thoughtfully.

"Me too ...,"she smiled into herself and felt a measure of peace consume her.

Tom turned around. "Let's sit there," he pointed.

 _Taking her hand, they walked back from when they came and sat down on a long, flat rock situated in the center of the jetty. Shoulder to shoulder now they sighed in tandem and Tom leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes. He looked so happy; she privately doted on him for a beat longer before she exhaled and scanned the coastline in an attempt to seal it into memory… the flat, white beach, untouched (their footsteps already gone) … the depths of the dark green jungle to her left … the expanse of the open water all around them. The ocean funneled through the rocks underneath them then and she inhaled sharply and the salt of the earth and her father's final resting place filled her lungs to capacity. Tom shifted his weight and rested his arm behind her and she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes and listened … the ocean and all of its power, her soundtrack for the moment … until she heard the children._

Eyes open in tandem, they watched the team as they poured onto the beach from the enclave of the jungle. Ashley waved excitedly and ran into the ocean without looking back. Tom chuckled and raised his hand to Sam … the men following his signal as they looked on with broad smiles.

"They're back …," Rachel smiled happily, watching the scene unfold. She turned to Tom and whispered, "They look so happy."

He beamed, his eyes glassy, "That's because they are." He nodded. "You can't fake that kind of happy, Rachel …," he said then and she knew he meant it.

She tilted her head and regarded him, a smitten look upon his face. "I suppose you can't," she smiled.

"I'm happy too … you know," he declared then. "No matter what happens ... right now, _here_ … I'm happy," he breathed, his eyes searching hers.

"As am I …," she sighed, inclining her head, she kissed him, soft and quick.

Tom exhaled and draped arm around her again, his lips pressed to her temple and then to her neck, just under her ear. She leaned into his heat and turned her head, pressing a spray of feather light kisses to his neck along his pulse point.

Ducking down, he kissed her quickly. "You know …," he muttered against her mouth. "There are _other_ _things_ we can do while we count the days …... _sexy_ ... things …," he suggested hotly with a knowing grin.

Rachel's cheeks heated. "I'll think I'll hold you to that," she sassed and her laugh was cast out to sea.

"I was hoping you would," he retorted with a devilish grin.

 _ **To be continued …**_


End file.
